Almost everyone saw that I wasn't ready yet.

They warned me. They tried pulling me back. They said that I should wait for the right moment, that I was still too young to understand.

I didn't want to believe them. To me, they were wrong. They didn't know me, They didn't understand me.

I am my own person.

So, I do what individuals do best: I ignored them. I ignored their excessive warnings, their constant naggings.

I closed my ears off, trying to isolate myself, to get away from them.

I ran to the one person I could trust.

My best friend.

She would always be there for me, to catch my falling tears, to hold me and comfort me, sometimes even well into the night.

I was thankful for her, thankful of what we had together.

As usual, she was there, waiting for me; her arms were already wide open.

I buried my face into her shoulder and let whatever I held in that day come flowing out.

The pain.

The agony.

The remorse.

We exchanged no words. There was no sound except for my quiet sobbing.

I felt safer in her arms. Protected.

She rubbed her hands up and down my back and hugged me tighter.

I finally collapsed from exhaustion; my body, my muscles, and my heart were tired and worn out.

I've had enough for the day.

She would never explicitly ask what was wrong with me when I went ot her.

She just sort of went with the flow.

Before she came into my life, my source of comfort was violence.

I'd run away, to the nearby abandoned warehouse, and just punch the lights out of one of those long, metal pillars.

My knuckles would start bleeding, but the pain I felt inside made my torn and scarred knuckles seem like nothing.

I'd keep on punching, until the fire and pain had subsided in my heart.

Till this day, my knuckles are still raw and callused, a sign of my violent past.

She'd kiss my knuckles every day, as if trying to heal them. What she doesn't realize is that even though my knuckles aren't getting any better, she's inadvertently mending the wide, gaping holes in my heart.

Though I've been coming to see her regularly, today's visit was much more different than before.

She was there, waiting for me, as usual.

I'm not crying today. I just go to her and lean on her, for support. Just in case.

Her touch feels different today somehow.

More intimate.

Instead of her usual rubbing her hands up and down my back, she starts my face softly.

I feel her warm breath hit my ear and she grazes my cheek with her lips.

I shudder, either from the cold, harsh March winds, or from the affectionate gesture.

She holds me closer, and I close my eyes. Her thin arms are now wrapped around my waist, her head resting on my shoulder.

I lean into her embrace.

We sit together in silence, listening to the howling of the wind forcing the tree branches to slap against her window, like an unwelcome stranger seeking for refuge.

Her hands drop lower, and are now resting on top of my legs.

I open my eyes to this sudden shift in touch.

It's not that I don't feel comfortable with it. It just feels...different.

New.

Her hands snake their way up my back, and one of her hands slips its way underneath my shirt.

I feel a cold draft traveling up my back and I shiver.

Her hands are cold, like the air outside, but her touch feels warm.

Her hand on my doesn't feel weird. It feels...normal.

What's happening to me?

Her hand is now trying to unclasp my bra. I freeze and abruptly turn around to face her. I see her smiling weakly at me. I move away from her, dragging my botton against the rough carpet. I back up until I feel something hard hit my square in the back. The wall.

I groan in pain and close my eyes, trying to let the aftershock of the impact sink in.

I open my eyes and see her still staring at me from across the room. Her eyes are somehow empty, and lost.

For the first time in my life, I see her start crying. Her tears fell one by one, dampening the carpet below her. She lowers her head and her body starts convulsing. She wraps her arms around her legs and curls up into an upright, tight ball.

I'm still frozen in my spot. I am unsure of what to do. The very girl who has served as my shield for so long was now breaking down in front of me.

I feel like, somehow our roles are reversed. Shouldn't I be the one crying? Shouldn't I be the one feeling the pain?

Wordlessly, I walk over to her and kneel next to her. She hasn't noticed my presence yet. Tentatively, I wrap my arms around her and hold her close to me. She uncurls from her fetal postion and cries into my shoulder.

I realize, from her urgent touch, and her desperate tears, that she was crying for me. The lack of me.

I feel guilty. Guilty for neglecting her, guilty for not noticing her earlier. My arms tighten around her, as I let her cry.

Instead of crying harder like I expected her to, she pulls my face down to hers and our lips meet.

For a moment, I forget about the vociferating storm outside.

For a moment, I forget about everything.

This chaste kiss had made everything I've gone through before seem like nothing but a distant memory.

Her kiss is soft, just a mere brush between her lips and mine. But it's enough to wake within me a hidden emotion, something that had been crushed by the mountain of pain and remorse that had been long dominating my heart,

I deepen our kiss; I grip her tighter, pulling her into me.

She moans into my mouth, a sound so beautiful that angels could have swooned just by hearing it.

It's apparent now, that we want each other; that we need each other.

I forget about my stinging knuckles which are now scratching against the rough, sandpapery wall. I forget about my previous heartbreaks. I forget just about every ugly thing out there in the world.

We pull out of the kiss simultaneously. I wipe some stray tears off from her face.

I apologize, for everything that I've put her through. I say that I'm not worthy of her affection, not worthy of receiving whatever it is she has to offer to me.

She shushes me and just smiles. She reassures me, saying that I am worth the wait.

We sit together, again in silence. This time, I wrap my arms around her waist. I feel a need, a strong, nagging need to protect her. She's protected me for this long, stayed strong for me for this long. It's only fair that I return the favor.

My grip on her loosens a bit, and she notices. She turns her head to look at me, with a confused and worried expression dancing on her face.

I kiss her again. To let her know that I'm still here. To let her know that we'll brave the storm together.

To let her know that I love her.