"I want to help you." He placed his hands on my outer thighs and looked up at me, blue eyes wide and sincere. He squeezed my thighs gently. "All you have to do is tell me what's happening, okay?" Reaching up, he tucked a wet strand of hair behind my ear, "Just tell me who's hurting you and I'll make it go away." You can't help me. No one can. I took that beating for talking to you. For taking a fucking picture with you. You are the last person who can help me. "I'm okay, Johnny," I croaked out, feeling the tears pooling my eyes. "You don’t need to help me." "You're lying to me," he growled,
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