I pace back and forth on the farmer’s porch, the wooden planks creaking under my heavy steps. My mind races as I debate what to do. Daphni has already been gone for two hours, and I’m beginning to get anxious. After she had taken off, I had run after her, scouring the town looking for her for over an hour. Finally I had returned back to the house, hoping maybe she had gone back, but she wasn’t here, either.

I felt like shit. I know it's my fault she ran away. I had acted like such an asshole and she didn’t deserve it. It wasn't her fault that I was such a goddamn masochist and had replayed every single memory of our time together over in my head. Even if she had shattered my heart into a million tiny pieces, that still wasn't an excuse to treat her so poorly. And because of that, she was now gone. Because of me.

I sit down on the stoop and drop my head into my hands. If anything happens to her, I would never forgive myself. I would never be able to live with myself unless I had a chance to apologize, to take back all the terrible things I said.

The sound of a loud glassy clang causes me to jump out of my skin. I look down the driveway and find Daphni, crouched over, picking up a bottle off the gravel. Without hesitating, I jump off the steps and run over to her.

“Daphni, where were you? You scared the hell out of me!” Despite my best efforts, my tone is strong and angry, and she balks as I approach her.

She pulls away from me and takes a few uneasy steps forward, taking a long sip from the half-empty bottle of Jose Cuervo. “I was walking,” she slurs.

“Yeah, you were walking," I spit back. Shaking my head, I take in her red, puffy eyes and her disheveled clothes. "You’re hammered, Daphni.”

She pushes past me, her bony elbow digging into my side as she walks away. “Well, it’s none of your concern, Roman.”

Gritting my teeth, I follow after her. “Yes, it is my concern, Daphni. Everything you do concerns me.”

She whips around to face me, swaying from the movement. “No, no it doesn’t.” She marches toward me, the bottle still in her hand. “And if you were smart, you would know to run away as fast as you can. Because," she says, pointing her finger at herself, "this is a dead woman walking!” She giggles maniacally and spins in a circle.

I grab her arm and pull her toward the house. She resists, tugging her arm out of my grasp.

“Don’t touch me!” she shrieks as she drops onto the ground. “You’ll get your hands dirty.”

I feel the hairs on the back of my neck rise as I look down at her, crumbled on the ground. I crouch down beside her. “Daphni, what the hell are you talking about? How can I get dirty by touching you?”

She looks up at me, her emerald eyes brimming with tears. Shaking her head, a lone tear escapes and trickles slowly down her cheek. “Can't you see, Roman? I’m broken inside. I ran away from you because I knew I would break you, too.” She reaches for my face and trails her finger down my jaw. “You were too beautiful for me to break.”

Before I can respond and without any warning, she pushes herself back up and scurries to the steps leading up to the porch. She stumbles up the steps and I move quickly to catch her from falling. She again tears herself out my embrace and walks into the house. She pulls a cup out of the cabinet and starts to pour herself another drink. I grab it from her hands. “I think you’ve had enough, Daphni.”

“I disagree.” She reaches for the bottle but I pull it away, throwing it in the trash. She glares at me and moves to retrieve it when her whole face turns white. “I think I’m gonna—” She doesn’t finish her sentence but runs to the trash can and, gripping its sides, proceeds to throw up. I come up behind her and pull her hair out of her face as she continues to heave into the barrel.

After a few minutes, I realize there's nothing left for her to throw up. Her body collapses and I quickly catch her and lift her into my arms. I carry her up the stairs and bring her to my room. I know that I shouldn't, and that I should bring her to her own bed. But I don’t want her to be alone. I'm broken inside. What did that even mean?

Daphni's legs are covered in dirt and she has some vomit stuck in her hair. I bring her into the bathroom and sit her down on the toilet as I start the shower. As it heats up, I lean down and hand her a cup of mouthwash, which she obediently guzzles and spits out.

“Daphni, you're going to take a quick shower, okay?”

She nods and obediently lifts up her arms and I slide her shirt off. I unclasp her bra then lift her to a standing position, where she kicks off her shorts and her panties. I test the water and guide her into the shower. She lets out a small shriek as the water hits her. I turn to pick up her clothes and she slides down the shower wall. At first I think she’s fallen but then I see her, sitting on the shower floor, the water raining down on her.

“I would shower for hours,” she says, her voice flat, her eyes closed as she leans her head against the wall. “I could never get clean. Never get clean enough to see you.”

“What are you talking about Daphni?” I ask her, not understanding her words.

She turns her head to look at me, her sad, beautiful eyes locked on mine. “I never deserved you.”

"Daphni, what—”

She cuts me off, turning her head away from me as she draws her legs up to her chest and wraps her arms around them. Despite the hot water of the shower raining down on her, her small body shakes.

I pull off my shirt and step into the shower, kneeling down next to her. Gently, I pull her away from the wall. When she looks at me, I feel my heart clench. Her pain is so clearly written on her face, etched into her skin. But it's her eyes that truly tear me apart. Filled with an almost unspeakable sadness, they watch me expectantly, as if they are waiting for the moment where I hurt her. I hate seeing her like this. I can read the fear and vulnerability in those emerald eyes. It terrifies me because I know that, in this moment, she needs me. To be strong, to take care of her.

Grabbing the bar of soap, I gently run it down her arm, washing away the dirt. As I drag the soap down her leg, she pulls her arms away, slowly unraveling herself, stretching her legs across the shower floor. I continue to wash her, as her eyes remain fixated on me. Only when I reach for the shampoo and bring my hands to her hair do her eyes finally close. Her shoulders drop and I can see her expel a long, silent breath. Seeing her finally relax, I continue to massage her scalp, working the shampoo into her long, pink hair.

When the water has washed away all the soap and shampoo, I help her stand back up. She’s so light, and she flops against me like a rag doll. I reach over, turning off the shower before grabbing her a large towel and wrapping it around her. Still soaked in my shorts, I guide her back into my bedroom, leaving a wet trail behind us. Shakira is waiting on the bed; I pull open the sheets and guide Daphni into it.

I place another towel over her pillow for her damp hair, and grab an extra blanket to cover her. As I tuck her in, securing the blanket over her, I watch her eyes close and her breath finally steady. I hear her words echo in my head as I watch her sleeping, her chest slowly rising and falling. I'm broken inside. I ran away from you because I knew I would break you, too. I could never get clean. Never get clean enough to see you.

What did she mean? I need to ask her in the morning when she's feeling better. Though after how much she drank today, I doubt she'll even remember. Needing to think, I push myself out of the chair where I’ve spent the last half hour watching her sleep and make my way toward the bed. I can't help myself. I press a soft kiss to her forehead, and as I do, she mumbles something in her sleep that strikes me at my core.

“I love you, Roman.”