Dear Peter,

I'll just pick up where I left off. This day is one that I think about more than I'd like to admit.

It was cold, dark, and scary. I was in an alley, in NYC, my back pressed back onto a brick wall, wishing that I could somehow pass through it. There was a figure approaching me, his features hidden, but a cross necklace illuminated the alley.

He placed one foot in front of another, walking towards me in an agonizingly slow pace. My head darted left, right, up, but there was nowhere that I could go. I was stuck. I could have screamed, but I was frozen, and almost certain that no one would hear me.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

My heart was beating so hard that I was afraid it would leap out of my chest. I squeezed my eyes closed as hard as I could, trying to muster up as much courage as possible. I thought back to how Nana once fought off a group of muggers with just her umbrella, purse, and her feisty demeanor. I remembered how, when Zoya was in seventh grade, a group of boys tried to bully her and she spoke up for herself. And then, I thought of you. You fought every day, not only on the ring, but your own battles. You fought with whatever was the cause of the darkness that succumbed you.

You were wrong, Peter. You were capable of being an inspiration.

"What do you want?" I finally asked, my voice surprisingly strong. I'm not sure why, Peter, but I'd stopped crying. My hands clenched into fists. I was calm, but ready to fight if it came down to it.

I knew who it was, but I refused to address him by his name.

He finally came close enough that he walked right into a spot where light fell on his body, giving away his features. My suspicions were confirmed. It was Brian, and he had the most cynical, disturbing smile on his lips.

He laughed, cocking his head to the side in amusement.

"I just wanted to introduce myself to Peter's new girl, of course," he said, pacing slowly in front of me. He wanted to drag this out; he wanted to make it as painfully suspenseful as possible. He wanted to enjoy it.

I try not to think of all of the things that could have happened that night. A girl going missing in the middle of the night was not important news in New York City. It was just another day. People would see the headline, shake their heads at how some things never change, and flip to the sports section. It's just another thing that's wrong with the world.

I'm not sure if Peter told you..." Brian stepped closer, so that there were maybe four feet between us. I tried to think of something I could use as a weapon. My bag was full of flowers, paper, and pens. Those wouldn't do me much good.

"We go way back. We're best buds, of course," he said smugly. I had a feeling he was lying. "He has mentioned me, hasn't he?"

I mustered the best smile that I could, trying to steady my trembling hands.

"I have a feeling that's not true," I said, looking him dead in the eyes. His eyes were dark and beady. He wasn't an attractive man, but I felt like that didn't have much to do with his looks. It was his personality that made him seem toxic. I feigned a smile, trying to show him that I wasn't scared of him.

He looked shocked, only for a second.

"You're smiling?" he asked, bringing a hand to his chin. "You're a strange one, aren't you?"

He inched closer, rubbing his hands together and licking his dry, thin lips.

"I'm not scared of you," I pointed out, not tearing my gaze from his.

He laughed maniacally. "Oh, this is going to be fun."

That's the last thing he said to me before taking steps towards where I stood. Instead of standing there and waiting for him, I did the only other thing I could've done.

It was instinctual. The adrenaline pumping through my blood is probably what saved me that night. I said my prayers and charged at him.

Before he had time to process what was going on, I grabbed him by the shoulders and brought my knee up with as much force as I could manage, trying to make impact with his groin.

I was too slow.

He was a boxer; he knew how to defend himself.

His hands grabbed my leg right before I could do any damage and take away his chance of ever reproducing, which would've been nice. We didn't need more Brian Walkers in the world.

He laughed, his hand still holding my leg, his face only inches from mine. I started thrashing, punching him again and again on his chest, slapping his face, trying to wriggle out of his grasp.

"Like I said," he sneered, "you're making this way too easy."

I tried to scream, but one of his hands covered my mouth, pressing it so hard that it was impossible for me to move my lips. His grip was so strong that I was certain he'd leave bruises along my arms and legs.

That was the moment that I felt a tear escape my eyes. Who was I kidding? I was terrified. I was certain that I was going to be hurt beyond repair that night. I didn't know if I'd live to watch the sun rise the next morning.

I shut my eyes, keeping them closed, wishing that I would open them and maybe be back in Maryland. Or at Zoya's wedding. Or with you. It was then that I realized something: in the moment that I thought I was going to lose my life, the last thought that crossed my mind was you. Was Zoya right, Peter? Had I fallen for you, against all odds and reason and rhyme, betraying every law of nature and logic?

My eyes shot wide open when I heard Brian grunt. I saw a hand land on his shoulder and spin him around so forcefully that both of his hands fell off of me.

I stumbled backwards, scared, confused, and in pain. And I looked up to see a miracle. You stood in front of Brian, as fierce as ever. Anger was evident through every inch of your face and body. You threw one punch at his face, then pummeled your fist into his stomach, before hitting his face again.

He tried to fight back. He even got a good punch in, hitting your gut with so much force that it looked like it should have hurt, but you weren't phased. You winced, but did not falter. You kept hitting him, eliciting multiple grunts of pain. He buckled in agony, resting on his knees. You brought your fist up again, and drew it back with so much force.

I snapped out of my state of shock. I began running towards you.

"Peter!" I shouted, my voice hoarse, cheeks stained from tears. Your head snapped up to face me, eyes scanning me for any sign of harm. I shook my head vigorously, silently urging him to put his arm back down.

Brian's nose was bloody, his eyes drooping, and his jaw swollen. What was wrong with me? This man could have taken my life, but there I was, trying to save his.

"He hurt you," you said, your voice possessing so much passion and sadness that it made my heart flutter, even in that terrifying moment.

I shook my head, walking towards you with care. Your eyes darted down at Brian, who was pleading for you not to hit him, and back at me, and it was obvious that you were conflicted.

I knotted my hands together, inching closer to you.

"Please," I begged, "I'm okay. Just let him go."

Your face softened and the anger began to fade. Keeping your eyes on me, you stumbled backwards, snapping out of the state of rage. You kicked a rock towards him as he struggled to stand.

"I don't want to see your face ever again." You sneered, threatening him with your tone.

Brian turned towards me, and for the first time, I saw the mortality in him. I didn't know the reason behind his actions. I didn't know him, but he was still human. Who knows what motivated him to do what he did? I felt every bit of anger and hatred towards him fade when his eyes met mine. He searched mine for something that I did not know of.

"I'm sorry," he said, the words muffled because of his swollen jaw. He begged silently with his eyes, struggling to stay standing.

I smiled softly. "I forgive you."

He looked too gracious and shocked to respond. Why would anyone forgive him for his actions? I knew that that was the only thought that crossed his mind.

He limped away, retreating back into the darkness before disappearing into the night.

Within seconds, you were by my side. Your shaking hands flew to my face, searching it for any sign of harm. They intertwined with my hands, and you held my arms out in front of you, frantically scanning for injuries. You ran your fingers over the bruises around my wrists, your lips forming a scowl and your fingers twitching. Without taking your hands away from mine, you lifted your head to meet my eyes.

Suddenly, it didn't feel so dark anymore. It began to rain, but we stood there in silence. You were radiating. There was a certain type of light being emitted from you, which I only imagined might have been from passion. Or maybe it was my concussion.

Your eyes bore into my soul.

"Are you alright?" You asked.

I nodded, managing a small smile. "I'm okay."

I was okay, but I didn't mean just physically. I was okay in every aspect possible.

Your hands smoothed down my hair from both sides, sending shivers racking through my body.

"You're crazy," you said incredulously, but I knew that you didn't mind it. I knew what you were referring to. Why did I choose to walk home alone in the middle of the night? Why wasn't I scared of Brian? Why did I forgive him?

"How did you find me?"

You turned, stepping to the left a little, revealing my notebook on the ground, its pages ruined because of the rain.

"You forgot your book, and I came after you. I just had a feeling, I guess," you said, your hands now on my shoulders, holding me so tight as though you were scared to let me go.

I was so thankful. You were no longer distant and resilient. You were vulnerable; you were human.

I stepped back, letting your hands drop from my shoulders. I swung my backpack over my shoulder and walked over to where my journal laid on the ground. You remained frozen in your spot, watching me move with confusion.

"What are you waiting for?" I asked, raising my eyebrows quizzically. "Drive me home."

It wasn't a command; it was a request. My voice was feeble.

You shook the thoughts out of your head and jogged towards me. You opened your mouth to say something, but I supposed you thought it wasn't worth it. It was once we were under a streetlight that I could see your fists. They were bloodied and bruised. I pulled a water bottle out of my bag and gently took one of your hands.

You didn't question me. I guess you learned not to.

I poured some water onto your hand, seeing the blood wash off and your skin return to its normal tone, besides the purple bruises that stained it. I did the same with your other hand, keeping my touch delicate so that I wouldn't hurt you, even though I was sure that you were too strong to be in pain from a couple of bruises.

Once I was done, you laughed quietly.

"Thanks," you said as we continued onto the sidewalk.

"Don't mention it," I smiled, knowing that this was humorous for both of us because I should've been the one thanking you.

The city seemed different now. It was more lively, but I felt like maybe I felt that way because you were by my side. We walked in silence back to your car. There was so much to be said that we didn't know where to start. I would watch your facial expressions change every few seconds as different thoughts crossed your mind. Your arm would brush against mind with each step, and I felt safe.

I watched my mouth release puffs of fog with each breath, dissipating into the cold night.

We got to your car and you opened the door for me before walking around and taking your own seat. It was another few minutes of silence until you spoke up.

"Lucy," you finally breathed, followed by a sigh, "Why did you forgive him? You can press charges, you know?" You turned towards me, your expression stern. Your fingers tightened around the steering wheel, turning your violet knuckles white. I could sense anger in your words.

"Because I'm okay. I could press charges to make sure he knows he can't do that, but I refuse to hate him. If I hold hatred in my heart, it's only toxic for me, so there's no point."

I ended up not pressing charges, and I regret it. These days, women are being harmed and not receiving justice. They're scarred mentally and emotionally and physically. It's saddening and I wish I'd done something about it when I had the chance. Then again, I wish I'd done a lot of things differently. 

You shook your head, not understanding my words. I seemed insane to you.

More silence.

"I've known him for years," you finally admitted, bringing your hands back down to your lap.

I waited. It seemed like you were taking the time to find the right words.

"I was dating Miranda for five years," you continued, your voice dropping in volume at her name.

Miranda? I was confused as to what she had to do with this, but I refrained from asking any of the million questions I had.

"I loved her, more than anything. When my father died, she..." you took a deep breath, "she changed. She didn't like the attention that I'd give to Daisy. She didn't understand that I had to take care of her. She didn't like that I was fighting."

So she was jealous? You were only doing what you had to. You had to protect your family. But I remained silent.

"I started giving Daisy some of the money I'd win from matches, and she wasn't happy. She wanted all of my attention, all the time. She broke up with me one night after my matches, using the reasons that I just explained."

You paused and looked at me. I nodded, encouraging you to continue.

"A week later, I had my first match with Brian. Before he got into the ring, he went over to the audience, found Miranda, and kissed her. They were together. She smiled at me, completely aware of how much pain I was in. I found out later that this affair wasn't recent. She'd been seeing him while she was still with me. For two months, to be exact."

My jaw almost dropped in horror. You really loved her, and she betrayed you. It made sense why you never let anyone in.

"I let him beat me up that match. I was hurting, and I turned to fighting as my only escape. I felt betrayed and I was in pain. I would've given that girl everything. I was going to propose," you dug into your jacket's pocket and pulled out the same ring that I saw a week ago.

"After that, I realized that love is just...it's a lie. To fall in love is to become weak."

You had no idea how wrong you were, but I felt like that wasn't the best time to argue with you. It was better just to prove it through my actions.

"I don't trust people, because if I do, I give them the power to hurt me."

It's that line that still resonates in my mind. I think about it a lot, and I've found that you were right all along.

That was it. I had so much that I wanted to say, but I couldn't find the words.

"Peter," I breathed in, about to speak, but you beat me to it. You didn't want to hear what I had to say. You felt like you owed me an explanation, but you didn't want to talk about it any longer, so I respected your wishes.

"Don't," you pleaded, and began driving the car.

The ride was spent in silence, both of us lost in our own thoughts. When you pulled up in front of my apartment complex, I turned to you.

"Why did Brian come after me?"

You shifted uncomfortably.

"He wanted to hurt me through you."

I watched people walk on the sidewalk to my right, couples with hands intertwined, a lady walking her dog, and others on their own sole adventure. They didn't care what time it was. They were just living.

"Did it work?"

"It did."

(A/N) Thank you so much for reading! And I hoped you enjoyed this action-packed chapter. I'm starting to warm up to Peter, what do you think?

Please VOTE and comment your thoughts below and very special thanks to the people who leave their feedback and point out mistakes. It only helps me become a better writer. I appreciate it so much.

Love you xx