As I stand, huddled against the doorway of an abandoned building, hands stuffed in my pockets, warily eyeing the hustlers and their marks on the other corner, I know I am smiling. I did it. I made a difference. I helped.

As soon as I saw Kip walk into Woody�s, I knew it was a sign or something. �Cause I�d been wracking my brain for the past two days trying to come up with something I could do to help Brian, and my best efforts had only resulted in almost killing him with Gramma�s famous hangover recipe. So yeah, when he walked in, something just clicked. The plan formulated almost immediately.

And I didn�t hesitate. I knew I could pull it off.

I squashed the little niggling doubt at the back of my head. The one that was speaking in Brian�s voice, and kept repeating the rules. Always know who you�re going with. Always stay where help is readily available. Always stay in control. And of course the two biggies: Never get into someone else�s car. Never go to �his place.�

Brian seemed to conveniently forget that the first time I met him, I got in his car and went to his place.

As Kip�s car door clinked shut behind me, I had this brief image of my body stuffed in his garbage chute. Disgusting.

I took a deep breath and trusted my instincts. I refused to be frightened of a simpering little liar with a name like Kip. Especially one who talked like a cross between Dirty Harry and Snake Plissken. Who could take that seriously? I�m surprised Brian fucked him, to be honest.

So we got to his place and I put my plan into action. It didn�t take long, and the hardest part was trying not to squirm in revulsion as Kip�s tongue licked across my stomach. He caved almost as soon as I mentioned my dad and the police. It�s amazing the number of people who don�t know that 16 is the age of consent. Well, Kip�s stupidity is Brian�s gain.

Unfortunately, I hadn�t figured on just how pissed off Kip would be. I mean, I knew he�d be ticked. But I figured I�d at least get a ride back to Liberty. Which in retrospect was pretty fucking stupid, I guess. And I really should have made sure I had taxi fare on me before going with him. But no, instead I get back in his car and we�ve gone blocks before I realize where we are, and then he pulls up by the train tracks and just opens the door and makes me get out.

Guess he figured I couldn�t sic the cops or dad on him for that.

I had about thirty-seven cents on me. And a condom. But after walking a few blocks and getting past the row of factories, I was finally able to get reception on my cell phone.

There�s a light drizzle coming down and the shelter of the doorway is minimal at best. I�ve pulled my hoodie up but I�m still getting drenched. And the rent boys across the street as starting to give me the evil eye, even though it�s totally not my fault that several of their clients have cruised over to me instead. I�m just trying to keep my eyes down and my face expressionless.

When the next car pulls up, I square my shoulders and prepare to mutter another �Not interested�. But I glance up and� it�s rescue. Thank fucking God.

�Get in,� Brian leans across the seat and barks at me through the passenger door. I scramble to comply. Yes, sir. Anything you say, sir. Fuck, I�ll dance the meringue on the roof of his car if he wants me to, I�m just ready to get the fuck out of here.

�Thanks,� I say as I slide my hoodie off and buckle up. Brian doesn�t say anything.

We drive a few blocks in silence. I keep glancing over at Brian, but he�s staring out the windshield and gripping the wheel so tight it looks like it might be causing joint damage. Finally I can�t stand the quiet. �Brian--�

�I don�t want to know.�

Well, okay. I press my lips together, and nod, and stare out my own window. And try to ignore the churning in my gut. Funny how this whole thing didn�t freak me out until Brian got here. Yeah. Funny.

More silence. And then he starts muttering. Something about �princess� and �immature� and �moron�. The muttering is way worse than the quiet. So I try again. �Brian--�

I�m thankful that I�m wearing my seatbelt when he slams on the brakes in the middle of the street and whirls toward me.

And Christ, he�s fucking scary. I mean, I�ve seen him angry before, and upset and shit, but I�ve never seen him almost trembling with rage.

�Don�t,� he says. �Don�t try to make up some lame fucking shit about how you didn�t know what you were doing.�

�I wasn�t--�

�I�m not going to be the one who has to explain to your mother why your dead body ended up stuffed in a dumpster. So don�t fucking mess with me.�

I take a good look at him for the first time since getting in the jeep. Hair sticking up, eyes kind of wild. He�s... he was scared. And even though I still feel a bit freaked out, I also feel pretty damned good. He totally cares about me. Worries about me, even.