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I walk to school that day, afraid to go back home. It is a long walk--nearly five miles, and it was so painful. By the time I got to school, it was already eleven fifteen--the beginning of forth lunch.

I eased myself into a corner, trying to avoid gawking students' gazes.

I was tempted to curl up into a litte ball and just fall asleep, but I didn't know what the other students would do.

And then I spot her.

My girl, sitting at a table with several other people. At first, when I saw her, she was looking at a redhead sitting next to her. Her dark eyes weren't glittering, and her expression was full of solemnity. I wanted her to laugh again, for her eyes to sparkle as her lips curled up into a genuine smile. But they didn't.

Something hit me. I was using this girl as an escape, to keep my mind off of my misery, my defeat. I didn't know her, but I was using her. It made me wonder if my damnation had any end, if it could rub off on her.

And then I saw her dark, deep eyes sweep over the room, and they paused on me. I held it for a moment before dropping my gaze to the dirty, mottled floor. When I glanced back up, she was still looking intently at me.

It wasn't the same gaping stare of the other students. I saw concern written all over her face, along with another that was odd. It was caring for a stranger, someone she didn't know and yet felt a strange compulsion to help. I was conflicted, both wanting her help and wanting her to stay pure, as odd as that sounded.

Her gaze was broken as the redhead snapped her to attention. They exchanged a few words, and I realized, as panic bloomed in my chest, that my girl was standing up, and coming in my direction.