"I'm okay, Maria!" he protests, but I don't believe him. n.o.body goes two days without food unless there's something wrong.

"You get yourself into that fridge and find yourself something to eat," I order, pointing imperiously at the refrigerator door. "Why on earth would you do that to yourself?"

"Because I have no money!" he yells at me, and I stop dead in my tracks.

I stare silently back at him with my mouth open. This is the first time he's yelled at me or shown any kind of anger toward me at all, and I feel myself instinctively retreat inside my sh.e.l.l.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, hugging me tightly as he sees the upset look on my face. "I shouldn't have yelled at you."

"Why didn't you eat anything?" I ask, not looking up at him. I'm still hurt, apology or not.

"My parents paid the bill for my broken hand out of my bank account," he says, his voice cracking under pressure. "I had barely enough for rent and nothing left after that."

"That was almost two weeks ago!"

"I know. I've been stealing Craig's leftovers when I can," he explains as I stare at him in horror. "I get paid in two days, and then I'm okay again."

"Will you be, or are you just telling me that to keep me from worrying about you?"

"I... well, as long as nothing else happens, I should be good."

I stare at him, take a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Here's what you're going to do," I tell him. "You're going to come over here for dinner every night. Dinner's on me. You just help me cook, okay?"

"I can't do that to you! You shouldn't have to..."

I steal one of Tina's old favorites and pretend I'm zipping his mouth shut. It's so satisfying to finally be the one using it.

"No. I'm not letting you go hungry. Besides, I'd love your company."

"Are you sure?"

His face is red with embarra.s.sment and shame, and I wish I could just grab a sponge and wipe it all away. Instead, I give him the warmest, most sincere smile I can.

"I'm totally sure. Really," I answer, and I pull him close to me and hug him tightly.

I release him and head to the fridge to find him something to eat.

"Maria?"

"Yeah?"

The moment I turn back to him, his arms are around me and his head presses into my shoulder.

"Thank you," he whispers. "Thank you so much. You're the best thing to ever happen to me."

I could just melt into a puddle right here in the kitchen. He sounds so relieved and grateful over something so simple and small that anyone would do it for a friend. How could I possibly let him go hungry?

"You'd do it for me if I needed it," I whisper, and I wink at him as I squeeze him back. "Now go make yourself a sandwich already."

Sat.u.r.day, March 16 10:00 AM.

Maria.

I love Spring Break. No cla.s.ses, a few days without homework and the promise of warm, summer weather on its way... what more could I ask for?

Other than to spend it with Owen, of course. This is going to be the best Spring Break ever!

Dinah and Lacey left for home last night and Tina's off somewhere-probably with Craig as usual-so the apartment is all mine. Normally I'd use it as an excuse to sprawl out on the couch and watch movies uninterrupted, but the weather is so nice today that instead, I'm throwing on my shoes and heading outside.

It's at least sixty degrees as I lock the front door behind me, and the sun shines down so brightly that I can barely see. What a fantastic change from winter! All Spring Breaks should be like this, not like last year when we had a foot of snow.

Owen's apartment is two flights up the long staircase and at the far end on the left. As I make it to the top of the stairs, Craig almost runs me over as he sprints down the sidewalk.

"Maria... you don't want to go there right now," he warns, his eyes wide with fright.

"What are you talking about? What's wrong?" I ask in confusion.

"Just go home! Seriously, you don't want to go there right now," he yells back to me as he races off in the opposite direction. "I'll call you when it's safe!"

Safe? What on earth is he talking about? Something's wrong and now I'm worried about Owen. He doesn't answer his phone when I call him, and I start to panic. I need to find out what's going on!

The door is swinging open on its hinges as I reach his apartment, and the hair stands up on my arms as I hear the terrible, hateful voice from inside.

"You stupid son of a b.i.t.c.h! I drove all the way up here, and you're coming back with me whether you like it or not," screams his father, and I wince as I hear the sickening sound of him hitting Owen.

"I can't! I still have to work!" argues Owen, and I hear him gasp as his father hits him again.

I push the door open and peek into the kitchen. Owen is backed into the corner, cowering, powerless against his father's hatred. He shakes in terror, wilting away a dying flower in the face of his worst fear.

Just like I did before I met him.

"I'm not afraid of him," I whisper to myself over and over as I steel my nerves. "He's Owen's nightmare, not mine."

"You're the most worthless..."

His father's slurs shake my confidence, but I keep repeating the line in my mind. I take a deep breath and push the door open.

"He's not my nightmare."

I walk right into the middle of the chaos as if I haven't a clue what's happening.

"Hi Owen!" I call out happily. "Sorry I'm late! I was helping my roommates pack to go home."

The room goes silent as both father and son turn their attention to me. Owen stares at me like I've lost my mind and his father looks unsettled, as if he's lost his momentum. He didn't expect anyone else to show up, did he?

"I'm not afraid of him. He's not my nightmare."

"Hi, I'm Maria," I introduce myself, stepping forward and offering my hand to Owen's father. This might be the dumbest thing I've ever done, but I have to try something to help Owen.

His father's eyes narrow angrily as he tries to figure out how to take back control of the situation, and I withdraw my hand.

It's all about domination and control, isn't it? Owen's father is just like Darren-he hurts people just so he can feel like he's in control. It wasn't enough to kill Samantha; now he's slowly killing his son too.

I stare straight back at him, matching his spiteful glare with my own. I hate him. I hate him for making Owen feel like I did, for hurting him like Darren hurt me.

"You might want to come back later, sugar," he growls, and I raise an eyebrow at him.

"Owen's my teacher and we had a tutoring appointment scheduled for ten."

"Well, he's just going to have to reschedule it," he hisses through gritted teeth, turning to Owen for support. "You're gonna reschedule, aren't you now?"

Owen finally figures out what I'm trying to do and he shakes his head.

"I have to stay here for work," he stammers. "I told you that!"

His father slams his hand on the table so hard that the dishes rattle in the kitchen cabinet. My nose wrinkles as I catch a whiff of his breath. It's not even noon yet, and he already reeks of alcohol. How much did he drink on the drive up here?

"Your choice, boy," he snarls, spitting poison with every word. "Either you come home today, or you never come home again. Do you understand me?"

I look up at Owen, my eyes pleading for him to do the right thing. Why would he ever want to go home if this is what's waiting for him back there?

"Don't do it, Owen! Please, don't do this to yourself," I silently beg him.

His eyes darken and he hangs his head as what little defenses he has collapse entirely. He's going to give in. He's going to go home with this monster.

No! I can't let this happen!

It's my turn to protect him.

I push myself in between them and stare up at his father. He suddenly seems so much taller and more terrifying than before, and my words catch in my throat as he casts me an icy glare.

"I'm not afraid of him. He's not my nightmare!"

"Why should he go home with you?" I ask. My voice starts out weak and quiet, I've caught Owen's father off-guard and it gives me a chance to find my strength.

"You scream at him. You hit him. You hurt him," I snarl at him. "Why should he trust you?"

I fire off accusation after accusation-truth after horrible truth-and my voice gets louder and stronger with each pa.s.sing moment. I'm in control here, not this horrible monster backing away from me.

"Why should he go back with you after you broke his ribs? Why should he go back after all the scars you left behind? I can't even count them all!" I hiss.

His father finds his voice again, and suddenly he's right back in my face and pushing me back with his fury. I take a step back in fear as he hurls disgusting, horrible abuse at me.

"He's not my nightmare!"

"How about you get the f.u.c.k out of my family's business, you stupid b.i.t.c.h?" he shouts at me. "What the f.u.c.k do you think you know? You don't know a G.o.dd.a.m.ned thing about me or my worthless excuse for a son!"

Yes, I do... and I'm going to let it all out right now.

"Why should my boyfriend go back with you?" I ask, keeping my voice flat and calm. "You murdered his sister."

The blood drains from his father's face and he turns as white as a sheet. I've won. He's exposed for what he really is: a heartless, cruel, murderous b.a.s.t.a.r.d. I know the truth, and if one person outside his family knows, everyone knows.

I cast a spiteful glare at him, and then his fist connects with my face so quickly that I have no chance to react. My neck snaps backward from the impact and my head slams against the wall.

I collapse onto the floor as my vision blurs and darkens. Strange, colorful spots dance around in my brain and my entire head throbs painfully. I can't make my eyes focus on anything, and what little I can see through the floating spots seems to be spinning in every direction at once. Nausea rises inside me, and I close my eyes as I lay still on the floor, hoping that it'll stop.

Owen's voice sounds very far away, but I can tell that he's shouting. His father is yelling too, and so are a lot of other people that I can't see. Something is happening, but I can't see it through my blurred vision. Someone is on top of the other, punching him over and over again as a crowd gathers around them.

More and more people appear as my vision slowly recovers, and when my eyes can finally focus again, Craig is dragging Owen off of his father while several other students pull his father away.

"I'll f.u.c.king kill you!" howls his father, struggling against the group holding him back. His face is covered in blood and his left eye is swollen shut.

"Get out of my apartment," hisses Owen, his voice low and hoa.r.s.e with anger as he tried to hold himself back. "Get out of my apartment and get the f.u.c.k out of my life."

Craig and his friends form a wall between Owen and his father, and the hateful man shoots one last glare at his son before stomping to the door. It slams behind him so hard that its square window shatters, sending shards of gla.s.s all over the kitchen.

Owen collapses on the floor of the kitchen, cradling his hand against his chest as tears stream down his face.

The first thing I notice is his quickly swelling black eye. The next is his mangled cast, his broken thumb bent back at an impossible angle.

"Someone, call 911!" shouts Craig.

I struggle to my feet and try to make the call myself, but my vision immediately starts spinning and my stomach rises into my mouth.

I pitch forward onto the floor and throw up all over the kitchen.

Sat.u.r.day, March 16 7:00 PM.

Maria.

"So, how does it feel to have your first concussion?" Tina calls back from the front seat as she pulls out of the campus medical center's parking lot. Her car's suspension creaks as it bounces up and down, and I hold my head as my brain aches.

"Apart from the splitting headache, I'm just fine," I answer. "Nothing some ibuprofen can't handle."