My mom was sobbing in front of me. She was kneeling, her face almost touching her knees, sobbing. I knew it was my fault. For once my house, which was normally filled with people were all out. My older brothers were out, my younger brother sleeping over at his friends, my adopted sister with my grandmother and my step siblings at their mother's. My house was completely empty except for me and my mother. That was a random occasion. Perhaps that is why I felt the need to tell my mother what had happened.

Now mom had fallen to pieces in front of me and I didn't know what to do. I wanted to switch places with her. I wanted to be the one sobbing, curled up, or simply reacting. Yet my mother was the one crying. One look at me and she was in tears.

"How could this have happened? Why didn't I see this coming?" she cried, her voice cracking. I knelt down next to her and put my arm around her.

"It's not your fault," I said, "Please don't blame yourself." She looked at me, tears streaming down her cheeks.

"How can you say that? You are my little girl. I am supposed to protect you," suddenly she stood up. I knew her mother bear instinct was taking over, "We are calling the Police. He's not going to get away with it." She turned to go to the kitchen but I grabbed her arm.

"No," I said. I knew it was pointless. Nothing good would come out of it. I had already tried to get help before and nothing good came out of it. My whole world had changed because of him and I didn't want to give him any more power. Besides this was the last time. He said so. He saw what he had done to me, he saw how it affected me, he promised it was the last time. We would stay away from each other. We were bad for each other, constantly setting each other off. I couldn't describe our relationship but whatever we had I knew it was over. I promised myself as I walked into the house.

"He raped you!" my mother screamed, irrational, "You think that he should get away with it? That he shouldn't be punished?" Fire was in her eyes, she needed to get retribution for this. She needed to do something.

"It's me versus him," I replied. I wondered why I even told my mother? Maybe because this was the last time, I needed to get it off my chest. Maybe because I had lost everyone else. Maybe because I was thinking of a time when my mother and I were so close, how I used to be able to confide in her about everything.

I suddenly felt exhausted. The mere thought of doing anything except sleeping seemed impossible at that moment, "No one is going to believe me. He was my boyfriend. All he has to say is that it was consensual," I paused, "I'm going to bed." I turned my back on my mother and headed to my room. She didn't follow me. Maybe she would try again in the morning to get me to report the whole thing. Or maybe she would drop it. Maybe she would be relieved that I didn't want to press charges against him. Then she wouldn't have to hear the whole story. Then she wouldn't have to face the fact it was in front of her the entire time and she didn't see it. Then she wouldn't have to face the fact that she so willingly bought every lie I ever told her. As I shut my door, I could hear her cry again. I took off my clothing, knowing it would be the last time I ever wore those again. I stripped completely naked and paused for a second in front of my mirror. I had changed so much in the past year. I used to be happy. I used to have so many friends. I used to be so in charge of my life. Then I met him and suddenly everything seemed to slip from my fingers. Things that seemed so important to me took second or third place. He became so important to me. He made me feel good about myself. He made me look at myself different, see myself differently. I felt like I was finally breaking out of the stereotype I had been locked in for years.

I looked at my body, thinking about all the bruises I had had and all the ways I would cover them up. The bruises on my biceps from when he would grab my arms. I hardly ever wore short sleeves or shorts anymore. I was such a different person now.

I turned away from the mirror, unable to look anymore. I crawled into my bed. As I turned off the lights, I hear the front door open and my stepfather, sounding panicked, asking mom what had happened. I fell into a deep sleep, knowing that I would have to face it again in the morning.

I woke up with the sun streaming through the window. I had slept a dreamless sleep. I, moving as silently as possible, went to my backpack and checked my cell phone. An old habit I knew I would need to learn to break. I had one text message. My heart began to pound as I hit open, "I am so sorry. Call me later?" My phone silently beeped again. Another message, "I love you. We need to talk." I tossed my phone on my bed. I would have to deal with that later. I wanted a shower. After covering myself with my robe, I grabbed some clothes and headed to the bathroom. I liked to fill the bathroom with steam before I had my shower. My whole family knew that. My mother always told me what a waste of water it was and told me to stop. I never listened. I shouldn't have been surprised when the door burst open as soon as I turned on the water. Luckily, I hadn't taken off my robe yet. Watson turned off the water.

He looked furious. Mom had told him. I looked at him as he began to speak, my mind drifting. When I was eleven, Watson wasn't in my life. I had no idea who he was. When I was twelve, he became my mother's boyfriend. I hated him. I hated his children. I wanted nothing more than him out of my life. Not because I was afraid he'd take my dad's place in my life, my dad's place had been vacate for many years and I was over that, but there was something about him I disliked. When I was thirteen he became my stepfather and I stopped hating him. He was a millionaire. He gave me and my friends everything I want. Moreover, he became a father to me. There would be times I would call him "dad" but that was few and far between. Not because I didn't want him to know that I respected him as a father, but we weren't like that. We showed our love to each other in other ways. But now, as he ran into my bathroom, I could the fatherly figure come out of him and for the briefest of moments, I felt loved and privileged that he was in my life.

"Don't you dare shower! We are going to the police station right now!" he said. I shook my head.

"No," I said, "Besides I showered last night before I came home." After he was done and he realized what happened, he took me to the shower. I remember feeling as numb as he washed me clean. He seemed to caring, so loving with his touches but we both knew we were washing away any evidence. Besides it wasn't like we needed his DNA in me to prove that he had sex with me. It wasn't our first time. All he had to do was say that he was consensual and point out the fact we had been doing it for months.

Watson stared at me. He seemed to come down from his blustering rage when he came in. He pulled me into his arms and I heard him say, "My poor little girl." I felt numb. As much as I knew he wanted to care for me, it wasn't enough.

"Come on, we need to get you to the police station," he said. I pulled away from him.

"No," I said again. I didn't want to go to the police. I didn't want to tell someone I didn't even know everything. I didn't want to get him in trouble. I didn't want to voice that last thought. It was over. As soon as I was alone, I would delete those messages on my phone. I wasn't going to respond. I had said that when he dropped me off last night. He took my hand and pulled me in for a kiss. He agreed with me. Our relationship was too volatile. He told me that he loved me but it was probably best we remained apart. We promised each other that maybe one day in the future we would try again. We knew our love was real. It was intense. The times we were apart left us aching but those other parts, those parts that had changed him and me were too much. This was for the best. So there was no point to go to the police.

"Kristy, please," my mom was at the doorway. She looked as if she aged ten years over night. Her eyes glistered with tears. I hoped she wouldn't start crying again.

"No," I said again, "I'm not going to go," I glared at both of my parents, "Please, I just want to get on with my life. Let me shower and I'll be down for breakfast shortly." Watson looked at my mother and he lead her out of the bathroom. My parents knew how stubborn I was. I showered, feeling nothing. Normally, showering was my favourite activities of the day. I got alone time and some time to think. I didn't always enjoy my thoughts but I was allowed to think without being bothered by my family.

I dreaded going down for breakfast. Usually, breakfast is a loud ordeal. My older brothers, both who are in college, scrambling over each other, trying to get the last piece of toast or another piece of bacon. My younger brother, who was finishing up his last year in middle school, would be competing to get his beloved brothers' attention. My youngest sister would be squealing with delight at the noise and chaos. Adding my stepsiblings would just be that much louder. It wasn't to say I didn't love my family, I adored the noise. There would be times that I wanted nothing more than to jump in with my family and create a ruckus. I was a loud person myself, and there was a time where I enjoyed competing with everyone else for the centre of attention.

All that changed when I started to date him. My brothers didn't like my new boyfriend, and would always make comments about him. I stopped talking about all the great things we did together. As the abuse worsen, I found myself falling into myself. No one noticed with all the other noise going around. No one noticed how quiet I became. Maybe they thought I was finally growing out of my tomboy stage and becoming a young woman. Breakfast became was a time I could disappear. I began to love being not noticed. The huge family was a blessing and a curse.

I knew this morning would be different. I wondered if my mother told everyone. Would they all look at me different? I didn't want the attention. As I pulled my wet hair into a ponytail, I felt my stomach twist in knots. Abuse, rape. These things didn't happen to Kristen Amanda Thomas. She was strong. She was a leader. She had a good head on her shoulders. No one would believe that she would allow anyone to control her, use her like that. She wouldn't let him. She would make a new one if they even tried. I wondered if they were all thinking me as weak. I didn't mean for it to happen, I didn't want it to happen. I wondered if I was weak.

I walked downstairs, dressed as the old Kristy would- in t-shirt and blue jeans. Maybe no one would notice. Maybe no one would know. Right away, I noticed that Nannie was missing. She must have taken Emily Michelle somewhere. I also noticed that David Michael wasn't home yet. Sam was sitting at the table, chewing a piece of toast slowly. Charlie was rambling at high speed. He was in college to become a police officer. I had noticed that as soon as he began post secondary he turned into this complete know-it-all.

"She may have gotten pregnant. Did she tell you if he used a condom? I doubt he did. In assaults like this, the aggressor rarely thinks ahead. She should also be tested for STDS. She would also need to see if he caused any trauma to her-" Charlie broke off when he saw me standing at the doorway. I immediately felt ill. I didn't want Charlie to act like he knew everything about rape. He probably had just finished explaining how he "just learnt about this in school" and had told them everything I needed to do. He looked at me sympathetically, "You know, Kristy, you really should go to a doctor." I sat down at the table. It was all I could not to hit him.

"I heard," I replied, grabbing the cartoon of orange juice. It was all I feel like stomaching. How many mornings had I come down for breakfast, only to drink juice instead? How many meals had I missed because my stomach was in knots? I spent so much time worrying, wondering what he would think or react. Like the time I played that game of Round Robin with some of my classmates. I had forgotten to tell him I had played. It was with a bunch of other guys. I totally whipped their asses. I felt so proud of myself. He didn't quite think the quite the same way about the game as I had hoped. He accused me of a whole bunch of things and slammed me against the wall. Why hadn't I told him? Why didn't I invite him to play? Did I forget how much he loved to play softball too? Didn't I love him? Did I think I was too good for him now?

I put down my orange juice. It was over. I wondered how many more times he had text messaged me? Would he be upset if I didn't respond? I stood up. I didn't want to sit with my family. I couldn't deal with it right now. Watson had other plans.

"We need to talk about this, Kristy," he said, "You can't expect us to listen to what happened and not do anything. We have to take action. Your mother is looking into getting a counselor for you. Maybe someone with a professional point of view can convince you to go to the police." I felt like screaming. Why wasn't anyone listening to me? I didn't want to go to the police. I didn't want to! I didn't want to! I needed to deal with this myself.

"God!" I cried, "I don't even know why I told you!" Watson stood up and glared at me.

"We are your family and we are here to help you!" his voice boomed.

"I don't want help! I just want to move on! Why do you think reliving it will help me? Haven't I suffered enough?" I knew it was a low blow but I was desperate. I turned away but Watson grabbed my arm, preventing me from leaving. How many times had he done that in the past? I would popped by his place for a quick visit after school, with the intention to leave to do something, like homework. He would grab my arm, and pull me back. He would beg me not to leave, that we could do our work together. I didn't really want to. I knew we would just end up fooling around. He was always telling me how irresistible I was. He would start kissing me. How could I resist? I would go home hours later, with my homework undone. It wouldn't be until the next morning when I would see the bruises on my arms.

Watson immediately let go of my arm when he saw my face. I ran upstairs and slammed the door behind me. I grabbed my cell phone.

"Kristy, why are you ignoring me?"

"Kristy, I told you I was sorry. Please respond."

"Kris, stop being a bitch. Call me. Now."

"I get it. You have already gone to someone else. Slut."

"Call me."

"You left your glove here. Please call so I can give it back."

"I am sorry about before. Please don't leave me."

There were at least fourteen messages on my phone. Each felt like a blow to the stomach. He would always accuse me of being with someone else if I didn't respond to his calls right away. That was one reason why I stopped hanging out with some of my friends. He always thought the wrong thing was happening between us. He would tell me if I really loved him I would stop hanging out with them, that my friendships were unnatural, asking me how I would like it if he got that close with some of his friends of the opposite sex? My girlfriends didn't seem to understand why I would start refusing to hang out with our male friends. They said he was too jealous. Soon it became easier not to hang out with them at all. I quickly typed him a message: GO AWAY. I turned off my cell phone and threw it into my closet. I told myself to get a new phone number. I looked at my computer. I told myself to get a new email address and stop checking the old one.

I laid down on my bed. I could hear my parents arguing downstairs. I knew what they were saying. What would they do about their poor Kristy? They would soon begin to argue about whose fault it was.

I wondered about the rest of my family. Maybe only Nannie, Kristy and Charlie knew. Emily Michelle, David Michael, Karen and Andrew were too young to know. Or maybe mom would tell Karen as a way to warn her of the dangers of dating. I wonder what Sam was thinking. He was uncharacteristically quiet a brunch. I wondered if thought less of me. I wondered if he would blame this whole thing on me. Just like he did. If I hadn't come to his place looking so sexy, suggesting things then he would have never had done it. He had whispered in my ear while we showered, that this was what I had asked for anyway. I wondered if I did deserve it. I had been teasing him. I did want to make out some but I wasn't in the mood to go all the way. I hadn't been for a while. He called me a tease a lot lately and a cold blooded bitch. That seemed to be his newest nickname for me: bitch. He used to come up with the best pet names.

I was beginning to feel crazy. I wanted to get out of the house. Normally when I felt like this I would call him up. He would drive over and pick me up. We'd go back to his place. Now who would I call? I wondered if Mary Anne Spier would talk to me again. Mary Anne and I had been best friends since we were babies, we grew up together, we used to do everything. We were total opposites. Mary Anne was into books and romance while I was into sports and well, not romance. She always was the perfect friend, sensitive and caring. But she was a little too sensitive. I knew she knew what was happening in my relationship and I kept pushing her away. I wasn't ready to admit the truth and I didn't want her to know the truth. I was always lying to her. Like the typical lie about my black eye. I told her that it was from a softball accident. That always made more sense than hitting a doorknob. She didn't believe me. I don't blame her. I wouldn't have believed her if she told me.

Mary Anne, at one point, went up to him one day and accused him of beating me. I remembered feeling so horrified. How could she do that to me? How could she have mistrusted me when I said everything was fine? How could she betray me like that? More importantly, how would he react? He was furious, saying that all he did to show me that he loved me and I was gossiping about him, hanging our dirty laundry out for everyone to see. He said I was an ungrateful bitch that should be put down. I told him I never said anything and it took a lot of convincing before he believed me. After that I stopped talking to Mary Anne altogether. I figured it was best that way. Besides, if she couldn't believe me or respect my decisions, I didn't want her as a friend.

I wondered if she would see me now. Would she even talk to me? I had to leave the house. I went downstairs. I didn't see Watson anywhere. Mom was cleaning the kitchen. I grabbed my shoes.

"Where do you think you are going?" she demanded.

"Mary Anne's," I replied. Mom paused. She clearly didn't want me to go off on my own. What if I returned to him? So she called Charlie and asked him to drive me. Needless to say it was uncomfortable car ride. Charlie would try to talk to me but I wouldn't answer. I didn't want to hear about what I should be doing or what the maximum sentence for a rapist was. I didn't need to hear what I already knew. When we pulled up to Mary Anne's house, Charlie seemed to hesitate. I looked at him, not quite meeting my brother's eyes. We used to be close. My entire family used to be close. Had we fallen apart because of me?

"Kristy, please don't push this away. You need to listen to mom and Watson," I looked at my brother. I knew he had the best intentions in mind.

"You don't understand," I replied, and shut the car door behind me. I knew Charlie would stay until I stepped into the house. I rang the door bell. It was Saturday. Who knew if Mary Anne was even home? Her step-mother, Sharon answered the door.

"Kristy!" she exclaimed, "How are you dear? I haven't seen you in some time!" I felt so bad. It was my fault. It felt like everything was. I wondered how many times did Sharon look back when Mary Anne and I were thirteen and wish for those days back? Back when her daughter, Dawn, still lived in Stoneybrook and still had a good relationship with her mother. Dawn moved in with her father in California. Only her mother spoke to her anymore and that was once in a blue moon. I suddenly longed for the days of the Baby- Sitters Club, when the seven of us would hang out together and laugh. Things were so simple then.

I blinked back tears. I wasn't about to cry in front of Sharon. She didn't need to know how badly things had gotten.

"I'm okay," I said, "Would Mary Anne be around?" Sharon ushered me into their house.

"Yup, she's in her room," Sharon smiled again, "Why don't you go up and surprise her?" I thanked her and headed up to her room.

I knocked on Mary Anne's door. I missed her room. I missed all the good times we had together. Why did I feels so sentimental all of the sudden? Mary Anne opened the door. She was still in her pjs, her hair brush in her hand. She looked shocked to see me.

"Kristy? What are you doing here?" she asked. I opened my mouth to speak but no words came out. What was I doing here? Maybe I should just leave. Mary Anne pulled me in and shut the door behind her.

"Kristy? What happened? What did he do this time?" she asked. Anger washed over me.

"Why does everyone assume he did something wrong?" I cried, "Maybe it was me! Maybe it was all my fault! All of it! I made my mother cry! I made him do those things! If I was a different person, he wouldn't have done it! I just bring out the worse of him! I bring out the worse of everything around me! I'm a poison. A terrible poison." I was crying now. Mary Anne held me close.

"I know you don't believe that," she said. She was always so sure of herself. We stayed silent for a few minutes; the only sound was me crying.

"We broke up," I finally said, "We had to. It was just too much. I told him I couldn't do it anymore. I couldn't be with him because of everything. Our relationship was just too wrong. After last night, I couldn't return to his arms. Mary Anne, he keeps messaging me. I don't want him out of my life because I love him so much but he is just so bad. Mary Anne … Mary Anne, Cary raped me." Cary. The first time since I had come home last night I had said his name, thought his name. I began to cry again. I loved his name. I loved saying his name. I loved linking our names together. Now I was afraid to ever speak his name. Mary Anne didn't say anything. She held me tight. She was crying too. We were crying together.

Finally Mary Anne pulled herself together. She allowed me to continue resting on her shoulder, "Kristy," she started, "Have you told your parents?" I nodded.

"They want to go to the police. I cannot do that to him. He didn't mean to. He just gets carried away. It's just how he is," I said.

"It was still wrong. Kristy, I know you don't need anyone to preach at you. I know you are probably just a confused ball of emotion but you can't do this alone. I cannot help you in the way you need. Nor can your parents. As much as I hate to say it, your parents' are right. He may not have meant to hurt you. He probably never does but he has. He has abused you. He has raped you. Can you honestly let him get away with it?" I began to cry harder. I knew she was right. If it was Mary Anne who had come to me saying this, I would drag her to the police myself. Suddenly Mary Anne's cell phone rang. I jumped. Was it possible he had tracked me here? Why wasn't he letting up? Mary Anne ignored the ringing phone.

"Kristy, I'll take you if you want. We can go right now. I'll be with you all the way. I won't leave you alone for a moment. I'll be with you, okay?" I found myself nodding. Mary Anne hugged me and told me she was going to get dressed. She grabbed a pair of blue jeans and a t-shirt. We never used to be afraid to change in front of each other. We were best friend. But then things changed. I stopped changing in front of her. I didn't want her to see the bruises. Mary Anne changed in front of me today. It was almost like nothing changed except for the fact everything had.

She took my hand and led me to her car. We didn't say a word to her stepmother. I didn't call my parents to tell them where I was going or what I'd be doing. Before I knew it, we were at the police station.

Author's Note: I originally wrote this story as original fiction, so I'm a little worried that this is missing the proper voice. Anyway, I've done about 25 pages of the first original story, but kept running into writer's block. While trying to debate the next scene in the story, I kept thinking about what would happen if this was a BSC character who was in this position? I kept thinking about it, wondering who would be the best character for this story. My mind kept going to Kristy.

If you are curious about the original fiction, it can be found on , the username is the same as my name here.

Anyway, this is written as a one-shot, with the intention to continue it, either in this form or in the original form, I had started back in February. I would appreciate any review, helpful criticism you may wish to offer.

Thank you.