Lila's head pounded as she lay on her boyfriend's bed. The dull, throbbing ache made it impossible for her to sleep, and even if that weren't the case, the light from the skylight above was bothering her damaged eyes. If she drowned out the pounding, she could just make out the sound of Arnold's shower in the bathroom attached to the opposite end of his bedroom. Still, she thought to herself, things could always be worse. She pressed the ice pack that Arnold had fetched for her into her black eye, then pulled it away. If she truly focused herself, Lila could just barely make out a pinhole of light behind the swollen tissue.

Laying flat on her back, Lila decided to assess the damage for herself to see just how banged up she'd gotten. She tried wiggling her toes. To her relief, they responded to her command and she felt no pain. Okay, so far so good, she thought. Next, she rotated her ankles. Still nothing. Emboldened, she lifted a leg, taking most of the covers with it. Then, the other leg. Giddy, she attempted to sit up and nearly vomited from agony. She hadn't been touched from the waist down, but nearly every inch above that was on fire from the effort of moving. Worse, the pain was lingering, throbbing, as though someone were kicking her in the stomach over and over again. And, of course, the pain in her head hadn't let up one bit.

Lila let out a deep breath, which triggered another fresh set of spasms from her damaged muscles. This wasn't how she wanted to spend her winter break. Not that she minded being "forced" to spend time with Arnold. Far from it, she thought. Arnold was the most caring, beautiful young man she'd ever met, and being with him was a blessing, not a burden. But as far back as she could remember, Lila Sawyer had always hated being fussed over, and her condition made that inevitable. She wasn't even capable of sitting up in bed. She probably wouldn't be fit to walk for a few days. In her mind's eye, she pictured herself stuck in bed, with Arnold dutifully spoon-feeding her applesauce. She jerked upwards again in a fruitless attempt to sit up again, and again her muscles screeched their disapproval, putting the girl back down, with only more searing pain for her trouble. Frustrated, Lila slammed her head back down on the pillow, triggering fresh pain.

"You really shouldn't be moving, you know."

Arnold appeared in the doorway of the bathroom, freshly clothed in sweatpants and a tee shirt, toweling off his wet hair. Lila blushed a bit. The tee-shirt stuck to his still-damp skin and revealed some of what lay beneath. After a few seconds, the girl realized that she was staring and quickly averted her gaze to look up at the ceiling, hastily replacing the icepack on her eye.

"I know, sweetie, but I just can't help it. Pardon my French, but this sucks."

Arnold held back a snicker, but a tight-lipped grin crossed his football head all the same. Still that same girl from Pleasantville… he thought.

"How d'you feel?"

"Did somebody get the number of that truck?" Lila offered weakly. "Feels like my bruises have bruises."

Arnold moved to Lila's bedside. "Can I take your icepack off? I want to see how your eye is doing."

Lila lifted her arm, wincing a bit. Even her arms were bruised and damaged, but the injuries there were easier to bear. Arnold noticed some deep bruises by her wrist, but said nothing. When she removed the icepack and showed him her damaged eye, he gasped. When he had first found her in the snow, her eye was swollen completely shut. Now, he could see a tiny sliver of what was hiding under the swelling. The white of her eye was completely red, with black shiny splotches. He hissed sympathetically and put the ice pack back gently.

"That bad, huh?" Lila said, a noticeable amount of anxiety in her voice.

"Huh? Oh, no, sorry!" Arnold stammered. "I didn't mean to scare you. Phoebe told me that might happen, I just wasn't ready for it. She gave it some weird technical name, but basically you've got a broken blood vessel in your eye, so it bled a bit from the inside. It should go away on its own, but it looks pretty messed up."

"Well, I suppose that's a relief," Lila exhaled audibly.

"How's the pain otherwise?"

"It's okay, as long as I don't move. The acetaminophen is helping, I think. Thank you for that."

"Don't mention it, Lila. So, it looks like you're stuck here for a little bit. Want me to bring in a TV or something?"

Lila shook her head, at least inasmuch as she was capable of doing so. "No thanks, sweetie. I don't really watch much TV. And I don't think it's a good idea for me to be looking at screens right now."

"Good point, I hadn't considered that. So… want to talk?"

She closed her eyes and nodded. "I suppose we'll have to discuss it sooner or later. Might as well do it now."

Arnold kneeled at her side, his hand grasping hers. The room was silent as Lila waited for him to ask the question that she knew was coming.

"What happened? Did you see who did this to you?"

"Yes."

When it became apparent that Lila was finished answering the question, Arnold spoke again.

"…and? Who was it?"

"Arnold, you're not going to like this…" she began hesitantly.

"…but you can't tell me," he finished flatly. "It's a secret."

"How did you know?" the red-haired girl asked.

"I asked Phoebe some questions and she clammed up too. She started babbling about sweaters and pieces of thread. I was hoping you could be a little more honest with me."

The guilt stabbed Lila in places that the headaches and bruises could never touch. She tried looking into his eyes but found that she could not. He was wearing the same hurt expression that she'd given him each and every time she turned down his romantic advances in the past, and it broke her heart. She looked away, a single tear forming in the corner of her eye.

"I'm… sorry Arnold, I really truly am sorry, but I just can't tell you. I made a promise."

Arnold's grip on Lila's hand was slack. He didn't speak for a very long time. Lila was certain that when she next heard her boyfriend's voice, it would be a towering inferno of righteous indignation, demanding the truth… or else.

But, to her dismay, the voice she heard was barely above a whisper, and it was gentle and patient, the same voice she had grown to love. "Okay."

"…okay?"

"Okay," he repeated. "I don't know why you're not telling me, but I know you would unless you had a really good reason, and I trust you."

The single tear turned into a thin stream down Lila's good eye. People called her Little Miss Perfect, but Arnold was a living saint.

"But," he said, "I want you to know I'm not happy about this. Somebody hurt you, and that's not okay. I love you, and I want to make sure this doesn't happen again. That's all. If there's some big secret that somebody wants me to know, I don't think it's worth putting you in danger. So please, I'm asking you one last time. Please tell me who hurt you."

Lila's head spun. Inside her closed eyes, she attempted to run through the innumerable scenarios that might result from breaking her oath to Helga, but in the end, she found that she simply could not. She was a tired, broken little girl that was lying to her best friend to protect her would-be murderer. Despite this, Lila could not, would not completely break her promise.

"Alright, Arnold, I'll tell you. But I can only tell you who did it, not why they did it. Is that okay?"

Arnold was beginning to get a bit flustered despite himself. Could she not understand that this was more important than some stupid game? Several calming breaths later, Arnold had regained his calm. "That's fine."

"It was…"