She gets on her knees and again takes my face in her hands.

“I hate myself,” I confess, with tears in my eyes. I try not to look at her, because I don’t like when people see me cry, even Ashley. I’m supposed to be strong, or something. She shifts over and places an arm around my body, pulling me closer to her.

“Baby, what is going on?”

“I’m sorry” is all I can get out at the moment. Fuck, this totally sucks. She’s not even looking me in the eyes, yet I feel intimidated. She’s just letting me cry on her shoulder, again, literally. Well, that and she’s gently stroking my hair.

She doesn’t say anything so I continue, “I’m sorry for not talking with you. I’m sorry for lying. I’m sorry for yelling and storming out of here. I shouldn’t have come home drunk and I should have gotten off you when you told me the first time. I screwed up, damnit! Mother fucker!” I yell. I think this startles her because she jumps a little.

“Hey, calm down,” she says, trying to sooth me, “It’s OK. I just didn’t understand why you did it. Baby, please stop crying.”

I ignore her request and continue to bawl against her shirt. I’m pretty sure it’s soaking wet. I’m not really paying attention or caring though. After a minute or so, I feel a couple fingers underneath my chin. I moan a little at first, but then I comply. “Hey,” she says this so low that I can barely hear her, and I’m right next to her.

“What?” I manage to get out.

“You know how beautiful you are?” She smiles.

“Ashley….” I begin.

“No, stop,” she interrupts, “You are beautiful. I know what you’re gonna say. You’re gonna say that you look horrible and you’re crying and blah blah blah. But you look beautiful to me. Always.”

For some odd reason, my tears are being eliminated slowly. She keeps talking to me and eventually the majority of my tears disappear. I don’t deserve her. I really and truly don’t. The memory of the rape was still fresh. I could still hear her voice inside my mind, taunting me. I can almost feel her repulsive touch and her dull breathe. I honestly try my best to not relive it, however, sometimes, the memory just won’t get lost.