She leans into me and her back burns against my chest even through our clothing. She gently takes my hand in hers and trembles as she slides it down her body again. This time when she reaches her waist, she pushes me beneath her shirt and back up her body.

My heart races frantically as Maria releases my hand. Even though I'm scared to keep going, my body is reacting to her desire. She presses back against me as my fingers reach the underwire of her bra again, this time beneath her shirt, and she rolls her hips against me with longing. I cup her breast in my hand, gently squeezing her through the smooth, soft fabric of her bra. I feel a tiny lace bow sewn in the middle where the two cups meet. With a deep, nervous breath, I slide my hand slowly underneath her bra and touch her bare skin.

"Please don't let me hurt her... please G.o.d, don't let me hurt her," I silently pray over and over as she writhes at my touch.

Her breath comes in short, intense gasps as she presses herself against me and, and I nearly faint from excitement as she reaches up and grabs my hair. Her eyes roll back in her head as I fondle her and leave a line of kisses from her neck up to her cheek.

How can I ever go back from this? I've never felt more alive or wanted in my life, and I hope more than anything else in the world that she feels the same way.

She suddenly grabs my hand again and pulls it down and away from her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. A lump of panic forms in my throat as she drags my hand gently down to her jeans. She stops with my fingers barely touching her beneath the waistline, and she releases me again.

"Maria..."

"Please, Owen!"

Raw emotion fills her voice and sets my mind on fire as she pleads with me. I hesitate, lingering at the waist of her jeans even after she unb.u.t.tons them.

"I need this," she whispers.

She turns and looks back at me over her shoulder, her beautiful eyes wide and filled with longing. I'd do anything for her-anything in the world-but I'm still scared. I've never gone this far before and I know she hasn't either.

I may feel lost, but at least we're lost together tonight.

"Okay. Show me what to do."

She smiles at me like an angel and then guides my hand down beneath her jeans. I gasp sharply as my fingers graze against the elastic waist of her underwear. My mind wasn't prepared for the strange, incomprehensible feelings that are welling up inside me, and I barely move a muscle until Maria starts guiding me again. The elastic lifts and rides over my hand as she takes my fingers down between her legs.

She moans in intense pleasure and leans back against me as she slowly guides my fingers, shivering with each stroke. The shivers turn to writhes as she presses my fingers firmly against her one last time, releases my hand, and lets me go.

"Harder," she whimpers, her voice ragged as she rolls her hips against me, and she cries out in ecstasy as I obey her. I must be dreaming; there's no way this can be real. What did I do to deserve to be with the girl of my dreams while she teaches me how to be intimate with her? Either I'm the luckiest guy alive or I'm about to be the saddest when my alarm clock goes off.

Maria is suddenly very still, almost rigid, and her mouth opens wide as if she's silently screaming. Her eyes close tightly, and she starts to shake like nothing I've ever seen before.

Just as I'm about to pull my hand away in fear, I suddenly realize what's happening. I've never seen a girl have an o.r.g.a.s.m before, and Maria's on the brink of one.

Suddenly, her eyes open wide, and my heart sinks in my chest as I see the darkness and terror rising inside them.

"Let go of me!" she cries out hoa.r.s.ely, and she struggles to get away from me. "No! Don't touch me!"

I yank my hand out of her jeans and instead hug her tightly as she hits me again and again, trying to break free of me. I'm not letting go of her-not until she calms down and talks to me.

"Let me go!" she screams, and she starts to cry. Her chest heaves as she buries her head in a pillow and bursts into tears.

"It's okay," I tell her, still holding her close. "It's me... Owen. I'm not going to hurt you."

I lay by her side, gently embracing her as she sobs into the pillow. Time ceases to matter as I lay beside her, and I don't know if minutes or hours have pa.s.sed when her tears finally subside and she settles into a deathly silence.

"Maria, please talk to me," I beg her.

She slowly turns to face me, and her eyes are red and puffy from crying. I feel terrible now. This is all my fault, and I wish I could go back in time and fix whatever I did to hurt her.

"One more round of truth or dare, please," she whispers shakily. "You ask."

"Okay... truth or dare?" I whisper back to her.

"Truth."

"Did you ever have something really terrible happen to you?" I ask, and I brace myself for the answer.

She nods and buries her face in my shoulder as she starts crying again. I hold her close, gently running my hand up and down her back. I can wait as long as she needs.

"When I was fifteen, I went to visit my brother at college," she whispers, choking up as she tries not to cry. "He left me alone at the apartment when he went to cla.s.s, and his roommate raped me."

Everything suddenly makes sense now, but my heart still sinks into my stomach at the sound of her tears.

"Oh G.o.d, Maria... I'm so sorry!"

"Every time I blow up on you like this, I'm having a flashback," she whimpers. "It's like I'm losing my mind, like my body wants me to go back down into my own personal h.e.l.l again."

"I'm sorry," I whisper again, not knowing what else to say. All I can think to do is hold her close.

"No, it's me that should be sorry," she protests, holding back her tears. "You're the one who has to put up with my messed up..."

"No. Don't even go there."

"But it's true!"

"You deal with my problems," I counter, squeezing her tightly. "I can deal with yours."

Her voice is so sad that I almost want to cry on her behalf now. Does she really believe that she's a burden to me? Meeting her is the best thing ever to happen to me!

"Owen, I can't predict when the flashbacks come," she whispers, almost as if she's confessing a horrible crime. "You deserve someone you can trust-someone less broken than me. You're not messed up like I am."

"You're right. I'm not," I reply, looking her straight in the eye. "I'm the Owen style of messed-up, and you're the Maria style... and do you want to know something else?"

"What?"

I kiss her softly on the lips before finishing.

"I don't care if you're messed up. I am too. It doesn't matter how lost we were, because we found each other anyway."

She smiles radiantly at me.

"Besides, you deserve someone better than me," I continue. "You deserve someone who isn't living in terror of his father-someone who doesn't have nightmares about his sister."

"But then I wouldn't have you!" she protests.

"That's how I feel about your flashbacks, Maria," I whisper to her with a soft smile. "You have to take the bad with the good, and you've got more of the good than I ever imagined."

She puts her arms around me again and snuggles up close.

"Owen?" she whispers, not looking up at me.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you."

"You're worth it, Maria," I whisper back, stroking her hair softly. "You're totally worth it."

Sunday, March 10 7:00 AM.

Maria.

I wake up with a splitting headache and I feel sticky, sweaty and gross. Owen is still asleep beside me with his arm wrapped comfortingly around me. He looks so peaceful that I don't want to wake him up, but I really need to get away.

I slip carefully out from under his arm, and I sigh in relief as, miraculously, he doesn't wake up. He rolls in his sleep and snores into the pile of pillows while I tiptoe to my dresser for clean clothes and a towel.

The bathroom is just across the hall from my room, and my headache slowly diminishes as the white noise of the shower blocks out the rest of the world. The bathroom fills with steam as I stand under the hot water and wait for my thoughts to make sense.

"He's still here!" I whisper to myself as the burning water pours down over my head. "Owen's still here!"

I was scared that I'd wake up and he'd be gone. He knows what happened to me now, and he's still here. He didn't let go when I flipped out on him and stayed with me all night while I cried. He held me and ran his hands through my hair until I finally fell asleep. I've never felt more grateful or more ashamed of myself before.

Would I have been there for him if instead he had needed me? I can't imagine myself doing what he did, being there for him as he was for me. I'm too scared and broken for that.

No... I did do that for him! I stayed with him after he broke his hand.

I still don't know what he sees in me, though.

The hot water runs out eventually, forcing me to get out of the shower and face the day. The bathroom is so steamy that the walls are dripping as I change into my soft, green pajama pants and a tee shirt.

Owen is still asleep when I tiptoe back into the room, and I can't help but smile at how cute he looks. He rolls over in his sleep, and I snuggle up behind him and kiss him softly on the neck. He stirs as I keep kissing higher and higher up his neck, up his cheek, and then gently bite his ear.

That finally wakes him up, and he groans and stretches his arms.

"Good morning," I whisper.

He grunts unintelligibly, still caught up in his morning stretch. G.o.d, he's so adorable!

"Good morning, Maria," he finally mumbles. His eyes are half-shut with sleep, but his smile is certainly awake now. "How'd you sleep?"

"Not too bad once I finally fell asleep, at least," I answer, cuddling up close to him and putting my arms around him. "How about you?"

"I'm okay. Just a little sleepy."

"Thanks again," I whisper, and he rolls over to face me and kisses me softly on the tip of my nose.

"For what?"

"For not giving up on me even though I keep flipping out on you," I whisper. I lean my head against his chest and close my eyes, listening to his slow, soothing heartbeat. Why can't I always feel this relaxed?

"You don't have to thank me for that," he tells me quietly, and I shake my head.

"Yes I do. I don't deserve..."

"Oh don't you start this again," he interrupts. "I don't deserve you."

I stare at him in exasperation and his face mirrors mine perfectly.

"So if neither of us deserves the other, what happens then?" I whisper to him.

He winks and kisses me softly. A delightful shiver runs through my body as his lips brush gently against mine. I lean into him as I pull him close to me, pressing his lips into mine, dragging my teeth softly along his lower lip before releasing it. His tongue finds mine as it slowly explores, and I feel a euphoric haze starting to form in my mind. I'm in Heaven.

"If neither of us deserves the other, I vote that it all cancels out and we're back to deserving again," he answers with a grin, and I giggle and kiss him once more.

I can't get over how amazing it feels to kiss him. It's like all the best, most relaxing parts of having a little too much to drink, but with flying added to the deal. It's all I can do not to laugh from sheer joy as our pa.s.sionate kiss ends and we come up for air. I feel like I'm soaring high above the ground.

"Do you want to talk about anything from last night?" he asks, and I shake my head.

"I don't know why the memories keep coming back or why I can't get rid of them, but what I need most is time and patience."

"You don't even have to ask for those," he whispers back. "They're all yours.

I squeeze him as tightly as I can. G.o.d, I love him so much.

"I'm not going anywhere," he continues quietly. "If you're willing to stick by me and put up with my problems, I'm sticking by you."

"I'm not going anywhere either," I whisper breathlessly, and I lean in to kiss him again. This time, it's a slow, soft, romantic kiss. I want so badly to be in his arms and to feel his warmth that it almost hurts. Our tongues seek out each other as our lips play together, and he holds me close to him as I touch his chest.

"Owen... can I... well... oh, never mind," I stammer, losing my words. I'm too embarra.s.sed to ask what's on my mind.

"What is it? You can ask me anything," he whispers back. I lay my head on his chest before speaking again.

"I want to explore you, too," I whisper, running one hand gently down to the hem of his shirt. "Can I..."

I shake my head as I lose my nerve again. I want to see his scars, and I don't know how to say it.

As if he already knows what I wish I could ask, he smiles, sits up, and pulls his shirt off before lying back down beside me. His chest feels soft and smooth as I run my hands over it, but countless white scars-each one a terrible memory-pattern his skin.

"Only for you," he tells me anxiously. "I hate the way it looks."

He looks so uncomfortable to bare his chest that I grab the comforter and wrap it around us. Now he's safe. n.o.body can see him but me, and I love him too much ever to hurt him.