Cruz walks beside me on the narrow sidewalk. Cookie cutter houses, each one with similar shades of cream-colored stucco walls and reddish Spanish tiled roofs, line both sides of the street. A cloudless blue sky stretches overhead. The morning air feels crisp and comfortable against my face. It's perfect weather for a stroll. I don't have a destination in mind. I don't feel like talking. I don't want to think.

I just want to find some peace for a while.

Cruz seems to pick up on my withdrawn mood. He doesn't try to make conversation, and I'm grateful for the silence between us.

A few minutes later, we end up at a small private park in our subdivision. I take a seat on a park bench. He sits down next to me. There are trees all around us. Yellowing leaves sway in the breeze. A manmade lake shimmers beneath the sunlight.

My mind feels quieter here.

Soon, my eyelids begin to droop. My head feels as heavy as a ton of bricks. I guess this wave of exhaustion has been long overdue. I haven't slept in over twenty four hours.

God, I'd kill for a nap right now.

I'm so out of it that I don't even realize that Cruz is watching me closely. He remarks, "You look kinda tired. Wanna head back?"

There's too much baggage waiting for me to unpack at home.

"Not yet," I insist, "I like it here."

"Suit yourself."

Time slips by in calming beats. I bask in the calm. I'm not ready to leave yet, but it's getting harder and harder to stay awake. My head starts to nod this way and that way. Before I realize it, I'm dozing off, drifting in and out of a sleepy lull. Eventually, my cheek lands on something warm and solid. It's comfortable here. I decide to rest against it for a while and doze some more. I don't know how much time passes by, but, when I awaken, I feel much more refreshed and alert.

Cruz's voice rumbles wryly beside me, "Oh, good. You're up. My arm was getting numb."

I realize, then, that I've been using him as a pillow. Embarrassed, I immediately pull away and sit up, ramrod straight, taking care not to touch him anymore.

Sheepishly, I apologize, "Sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep on you."

"It's fine," he replies in unbothered tones, "are you feeling better now?"

"Yeah, actually, I am."

"I take it," Cruz observes, "you didn't sleep very well last night?"

"I couldn't sleep, like, at all," I confess glumly.

"I didn't sleep much, either."

I glance over. "Really? How come?"

He gives me a look as though I'm not very bright. "Because of you, Athena."

I purse my lips. "Oh."

He couldn't sleep because of... me?

What does he mean by this?

Up until Sam's party, Cruz didn't want anything to do with me, so I'm really not sure where I stand with him right now. I understand he's a decent enough person to set aside grudges for a night when I needed someone to rescue me from Chrissa and Brody, but I expected him to step away from this role once my crisis was over.

I squint at him. "Do you like me or something?"

His green eyes go wide as though I caught him by surprise. "What?"

"Well, do you?" I prompt.

He has the nerve to laugh at my question, "Oh, fuck, no. You're not my type, Athena. No offense, but I like my girls a little less chaotic."

So, I'm too much for Mr. Stick-Up-Butt to handle over here?

Well, then.

Good.

Because I like my boys a little less boring with a lot more chill!

I force myself to chuckle as well, mirroring his vibe, "Oh, thank God! I was worried that I'd have to reject your ass and make everything awkward between us again."

Suddenly, Cruz's expression turns serious, he gazes deeply into my eyes, and the whole mood shifts between us. He whispers, "Athena..."

Jesus, his eyes are so pretty and green. My stupid heart skips a beat.

Cruz continues in husky tones, "I promise—"

I find myself leaning toward him. "Yes?"

A smirk appears on his face.

"That nothing's ever gonna happen between us, so you have nothing to worry about."

My jaw drops.

Ouch.

I feel rejected, and I didn't even put myself out there!

I grumble, "Man, you really know how to humble a girl."

A teasing gleam enters his eyes. "We're gonna be family soon. You shouldn't be having inappropriate thoughts about me, anyway."

In the iconic words of Cher: As if!

I glare at him. "First of all, gross. Second of all, don't flatter yourself."

His smirk widens into a self-satisfied smile. Cruz looks though he has a secret that no one else knows. 

I can't read him, and it annoys me. "Why are you smiling?"

Amusement dances in his eyes. "No reason."

I get self-conscious. "Do I have something on my face?"

"No."

I huff, "Then, what are you so pleased about right now?"

Cruz's expression softens.

"I'm just happy to see," he finally reveals, "that you're acting like yourself again. I was worried about you. You've been really... closed off."

Oh, so, I guess we're talking about it now?

I'd been hoping to avoid this conversation. My mood dips as Chrissa and Brody creep back into my thoughts. "Can you blame me?"

He reaches over and takes my hand, giving it a gentle squeeze before letting go. "I don't blame you at all."

It's such a small gesture, but it means the world to me.

What Cruz says next moves me even more, "Hey. I know I haven't been the easiest guy to get along with, but I want you to know that... you're not alone. I'm here if you need someone to talk to... or whatever."

Damn.

This guy.

His words are too much for me. His concern for me is so unexpected, especially considering how hostile he had been a few days ago. It does something to my hard-won control. I can't suppress the fucked-up facts any longer. My eyes prick with emotion. Tears stream down my cheeks before I can stop them.

When did I turn into such a crybaby?

"Hey, hey," he murmurs, "it's gonna be okay."

"Will it? Will it be okay?" I sniffle and whimper with a sense of overwhelming hopelessness. "I feel so, so, so—"

Frantically, I try to find a way to describe the despair inside me.

"Pathetic."

Yet, pathetic doesn't even begin to cover how I really feel.

"You're not pathetic," Cruz insists in a troubled voice, "none of this is on you, okay? What they did to you doesn't define you. If anything, they're the pathetic ones. You're gonna get through this. You're gonna be okay, I promise."

In truth, I don't know if I'll be okay any time soon.

Less than twenty four hours ago, Chrissa and Brody broke something in me that I may never be able to fix. They drugged my body. They suppressed my will. They exploited me when I couldn't fight back.

Cruz is right.

They are pathetic for making me feel so pathetic and helpless and—

Violated.

Wetness stains my cheeks.

I'm no longer in denial.

I know this shit is all too real.

I know this shit happened.

To me.

Acceptance seeps in, then, comes the grief. The force of it slams into me like a sledgehammer. I grow hysterical. Cries turn into full-on chest-heaving, shoulder-shaking sobs. I probably look like an ugly, snotty-nosed, crazy mess right now, but I don't care.

Cruz doesn't appear to care, either.

He grasps my hand again. This time, he doesn't let go. I notice that his hand is so much larger than mine. His touch feels warm, solid, and safe. He becomes my quiet in this chaos.

Leaves continue to sway in the breeze, the lake continues to shimmer beneath the sun, and Cruz's hand continues to envelope mine as I grieve and grieve and grieve everything I lost—my body, my will, my strength—in that fucking bedroom because of Chrissa and Brody.