The familiar title sequence ran across my computer screen as the next episode of my Walking Dead marathon continued. I had been in bed for a week, just like I planned. The Walking Dead took me away from my own troubles for a while. Everything in the show fascinated me and I was immersed in a harsh and cruel world that wasn’t my own for once.

Amira had been to see me a few times. She was worried about me. She noticed I had stopped eating and was trying to get more food in me every time she was over. Its not like I wasn’t hungry, but the sight of food made my stomach twist. I had tried eating, but after a few bites I couldn’t continue.

Amira visiting me was the only human interaction I have had since I said goodbye to Louis that night. Being introverted had never bothered me before, but now…every time I was alone my mind wandered into dark and malicious territories. My own mind was becoming terrifying to me.

You did this to yourself.

You’re a worthless piece of shit.

You’re weak. You’re dirty.

You deserved to be raped.

I’ve thought about cutting. And suicide. But it won’t go past thinking. I won’t ever act on it. When I was in high school two years ago, a girl in the class below me committed suicide. I won’t ever forget the day it happened. I didn’t know her personally, but my school was small and many of my friends knew her. The unbelievable grief and sorrow that was in that school that day was palpable. Through Facebook, my whole school coordinated that we would commemorate her by wearing black and white. There were no colors in school on that October day. Everyone was crying – some outright sobbing – including teachers. Two years later, there is still a hole in my heart for her.

That’s why suicide is not an option for me. Because someone, somewhere would grieve for my death. And even the pain I’m feeling now can’t compare to the guilt I would feel after doing that to my family.

A knock on my door brought me out of my reverie and I straightened my baggy t-shirt as I walked to my front door. I looked out of the peephole – a habit I picked up after that night – and saw Amira waiting patiently outside in the hallway. I undid the deadbolt – another habit – and let her inside.

“Dahlia, I don’t mean to be rude, but you look like shit,” Amira told me. I sighed. I just couldn’t get myself to dress nice and look like I actually cared about something.

“I don’t care about my appearance that much right now,” I replied. “I can’t get myself to care about much of anything right now.”

Amira frowned. She was my partner in crime and I knew she wanted to help me out of this depressing funk. We were cousins by chance but best friends by choice.

“Do you think it would help if we told someone? Or you starting seeing someone to talk about it?” Her voice was timid, like she already knew how I would react.

“No.”

Telling someone about what happened to me was out of the question. It was useless to talk to the police because they would never find the guy who did this to me; it was so dark I never got a good look at him. I couldn’t tell my parents because of how disappointed they would be of me for putting myself in that position. I couldn’t have them thinking I was weak and looking for attention. And even if I could muster up the courage to talk to a shrink, I can’t afford those visits.

“I figured that would be your answer. Wanted to ask anyways though,” Amira smiled sadly. “I have an idea. Go get dressed.”

*

After I was dressed in dark skinny jeans and a cream cable knit sweater I grimaced at myself in the mirror. The bruises on my face were still visible although they were starting to yellow. I guess its time to break out my concealer.

Looking fairly normal, I zipped up some boots and headed out to where Amira was sitting on my couch staring at my television. It was turned onto the mid-morning news. Her eyes were slightly wider than normal.

“And in entertainment news, sources say that One Direction’s Louis Tomlinson and girlfriend Eleanor Calder are on the rocks. Could this mean the end of a relationship we love?”

I glanced at the screen and there was a picture of this Louis Tomlinson guy staring back at me. Only he was the Louis from a week ago, when he helped save me.

“Uh, did you know he was…?” I asked, turning around to face Amira. Her mouth was slightly open and she shook her head. I shut my television off and it was silent.

“Does it really matter? No one would believe us if we told them anyways,” I said, sighing and playing with the ring on my thumb. “What was it that you had in mind?”

“I’m treating you to cupcakes from your favorite bakery down the street.” Amira said proudly, and I smiled genuinely for the first time in a week.

*

The little bell jingled as I opened the door to my favorite spot in London, the tiny bakery down the block from my apartment building. It was this tiny hole in the wall but they had the best cupcakes in the whole city.

“You go grab a booth, I’ll get the cupcakes and coffee. Red velvet?” Amira asked.

“Always,” I answered as I started walking to my preferred booth. It had a perfect view of the street – people-watching was one of my favorite pastimes – but it was very private inside the café.

It was another gloomy, rainy day in London and if I had been my normal self and not this empty shell of a person I would have wanted to stay here all day by myself and curl up with a book. But I couldn’t even leave my apartment alone these days.

“Okay, here’s your coffee, the guy behind the counter said they were just finishing frosting the cupcakes so it will be a few minutes.” Amira said as she sat down across from me and pushed a mug towards me. I nodded and sipped my coffee. Sometimes there was nothing better than a fresh cup of hot coffee.

It was silent between us for a few minutes but it was a comfortable silence.

“Dahlia, oh my god, look,” Amira said, and I followed her gaze out the window to across the street. Louis was walking down the sidewalk, talking on his cell phone. He glanced across the street to check for traffic before he crossed it and locked eyes with me.

*

“Uh, Harry can I call you back?” Louis said into his iPhone. Harry sighed on the other end of the receiver but Louis barely even heard it.

Louis couldn’t believe his eyes. He never thought that he would see Dahlia again, let alone the tiny bakery a block away from his flat. But there she was, sitting in a booth and staring out the window at him.

He couldn’t stop thinking about her the whole week. He couldn’t understand why he was so drawn to the broken girl that Zayn found in the alleyway. Louis just wanted her to be safe and for some reason he wanted to be the one to make sure she was.

Go in and talk to her.

No, you’ll make an ass of yourself.

Just ask how she’s feeling, you dumbass.

Louis quickly crossed the street and made his way into the small café, the door jingling at his arrival.

Dahlia turned towards the door as it tinkled and looked up into Louis’s face as he approached the booth she and Amira occupied. The corners of her mouth turned up slightly in a small smile. Louis noticed that she attempted to cover up her healing bruises and black eyes. To a stranger they might not be so noticeable, but Louis knew they were there.

“Dahlia, hi. How are you feeling?” He said, rushing his words together slightly.

“I’m going to go wait for our cupcakes,” Amira said, leaving Louis and Dahlia alone.

“Louis, hi. Sit, please,” She said quietly, gesturing to the seat Amira just vacated.

“How are you, really?” Louis asked quietly, watching as Dahlia played with the cuffs of her sweater.

“Pretty shitty,” She said simply, raising her head and looking into Louis’s eyes. “This is the first time I’ve been out of bed in a week.”

Louis’s heart sank. He knew she wouldn’t have recovered so quickly after such a traumatic experienced but he had hoped; he hated seeing anyone unhappy. Louis’s phone started ringing at that moment and he sighed angrily, noticing it was One Direction’s manager.

“I’m sorry, I need to take this. But here,” Louis scribbled his number onto a napkin and slid it across the table towards Dahlia.

“If you ever need someone to talk to, or just hang out with you when you don’t want to be alone, you can call me, okay?” Dahlia nodded, and put the napkin in her purse.

“See you around, Louis,” Dahlia said, waving towards him as he left the café.

Congratulations, you gave her your number and you didn’t make an ass of yourself.