You were not Henry's girl. Henry was not your boyfriend and you weren't his girlfriend. You two weren't a couple. But you also weren't just friends. You were the only girl in the Bowers Gang, so it was only natural it would eventually lead to something like this. A guy infatuated with you but not really caring, being affectionate but not really loving you, fucking you but not really wanting you. You were just the arms he'd go crying to after being beated up by his dad in search fo comfort and spoiling, you were just the girl he knew would always be a call away if he ever wanted a quick hookup.

A call, sex, confrontation, crying, empty sorry's and promises and then all over again. A vicious circle that was slowly starting to destroy you from the inside. The other guys had noticed, Victor felt sorry for you —he knew you didn't deserve that—, Patrick was just mad at Henry —for having you but not valuing you— and Belch was just tired of this vicious and toxic circle repeating all over again. Everyone knew it'd come a day when you wouldn't answer Henry's calls. A day when, after leaving Henry, you'd leave all of them behind just because some asshole destroyed your sense of self-esteem and self-love. You also knew you weren't the only one. Henry hadn't made anything official, you weren't his girlfriend and he wasn't your boyfriend, so he still slept around with any girl he found atractive.

Today had been one of those days. Henry had called you crying in the middle of the night, drunk out of his mind, bawling his eyes out while begging for your forgiveness —after his father had beaten the shit out of him and he had ended up stumbling into a bar—. You, as always, had let him in. And after being comforted and spoiled he had fucked you. Now you both were laying on your bed, underneath the covers, his arms lazyly wrapped around you. You felt a stranger in your own skin, as if your body wasn't your own anymore, you felt cold in his warm embrace.