He acted like I was crazy the first time I called him about the letter, but of course, being me, I wasn’t going to back down.  I knew too much was at stake, potentially Sam’s life, and I refused to let her die like that...depressed, and completely alone in some prison cell.

She was better than that, and I decided that I was going do whatever it took to save her.  I didn’t consider the consequences, that if my family and friends found out they would be completely freaked out and more than likely angry with me for going against everything they’d helped set into place for me.  In their eyes I was over Sam.  They were convinced I’d learned how evil she really was, and for a long time I had gone with that.

But then that letter came and I just...I guess I snapped.  

I just couldn’t believe that she was evil, or even...a bad person.  My heart was telling me differently, and I went with it.  Something inside supported me, told me that it was the right thing to do.

It was just hell getting Bill to think the same way.

I must have called him every day, ten times a day, begging him to hear me out.  I told him that Sam needed help and he was the only one that could get it for her.    Naturally, he gave me the run around, told me that Sam was fine, that she was being taken care of as well as any other inmate, and that I needed to focus on myself.  He started asking me about my treatment, about how I was handling life at home.

I freaked out on him, though, because I didn’t want to talk about me.

That’s when he started hanging up on me when I would call him, so I decided to fax him the letter Sam wrote me.  When a few days passed, and I still hadn’t heard anything back, I decided to go to extremes and call his house.  A teenage girl answered the phone, and it sort of snapped me back into reality.  Like, oh yeah, Bill had a family and probably didn’t want to deal with my stupid crap when he wasn’t at work.  I feel bad about it now, but then...I felt I didn’t have a choice.

“Can I tell him who’s calling?” The girl asked me.

“It’s Justin.”

“Justin Timberlake?”

“That’d be me.”

“Oh wow...”

I wasn’t in the mood.  Luckily, I think she figured that out pretty quick.

“DADDY!  Justin Timberlake is on the phone!”

I winced a little, knew that the conversation was going to be anything but pleasant.

“Are you calling me at home?”

I laughed pathetically.  “Yeah, I am.”

Bill sighed harshly.  “Justin, do I need to remind you how completely unrealistic you’re being?”

“She needs help.  I know it.  Didn’t you get my fax?”

“She’s a convicted criminal looking for attention, and that’s all it is,” he muttered.  “In fact, I have every intention of filing a restraining order so this won’t happen to you anymore.  Now stop calling me.”

“No! I’m not going to stop calling,” I said, sternly.  “I’ll...I’ll call you all night if I have to.  I’ll camp out in front of your house until you listen to me!  Those people they’re...they’re messing with her!  You have to help her!”

He was silent.  I knew he hadn’t expected it, that he thought I was going to back down.  But I was better, stronger, and he didn’t know that side of me.  He’d only seen the weak one in the hospital bed.

“If I tell you that I’ll go pay her a visit, will that be enough to get you off my case, Justin?”

“You have to get her transferred out of that place.  It’s...terrible.  Just read the letter, and ask her.  She’ll tell you.”

He sighed miserably again.  “Fine.  I’ll look into it, but I’m not promising you anything.  You better back off afterwards, do you understand? I have three new missing persons cases on my desk.  I don’t have time for this.”

“Can you give her a letter for me?”  

I didn’t care that I was crossing the line by asking him, either.

“Christ....just...you better overnight it or its a no go.”

“Bill...I really appreciate it.  More than you know.”

“Don’t call me again about this.”

He hung up on me.  Even though he was trying to pretend he didn’t care about any of it, I knew Bill always had a soft spot for my case, and for Sam.  He fought to get her a shorter prison sentence, made sure Charlie didn’t get away with anything, and that I made a full recovery.  I overnighted him my letter to Sam, with full confidence that she would get it.  I wanted her to know so much in that letter, hoped that when she read it she could feel every emotion inside of me through the words.  A strong part of me knew she would be able to, because for whatever reason, she always understood me, completely.  It was like we were connected...

Meant to be.

Fate had brought us together, in the most fucked up way possible.  Everyday, I try to understand why things had to go down the way they did. Why I had to be put through a horrific experience, why she had to be controlled by that son-of-a-bitch for so long.  I guess I’ll never know the answer, only that we have a chance now.  A chance for friendship...maybe more, but for the moment I’ll just be happy with what I can get.  At least its Sam, whether or not the only way we can communicate is through the prison system.  I know I can tell her anything, and she’ll listen, she’ll get it, because she was there and she knows...she knows how hard it is to cope with a nightmare.

Although, I don’t want that to be the only reason we keep in touch.

After I called Bill at home, a week passed before he finally called me with an update.  As it turns out, Sam was going through some serious shit.  He wouldn’t get into specifics, just that she’d been having a lot of problems with a gang of inmates, and he arranged to get her into another prison when there was an opening.  I was more relieved than ever before, because I knew she was going to be safe from then on, that Bill would make sure of it.  I thanked him, promised him I wouldn’t bug him anymore about Sam.  Instead of telling me to take care though, he sort of sighed and said:

“Justin, I really hope you haven’t opened a can of worms with all of this communication.”

“What do you mean?”

I was playing dumb, but in reality I knew why he was saying that.  I was sure he hadn’t read the letter I wrote to Sam, but at the same time he knew me...knew I would want to talk to her in other ways besides through the mail, and probably knew I put my number in there so she could call me if she felt the need.

He would have been right, too.

“You realize you could destroy a lot of things if you and Samantha form some sort of relationship, don’t you?  Your family and friends would be let down...your career might be effected.  You can’t afford it, not now.”

“I know what I’m doing.”

“Right,” he said, as if he were on the brink of losing his composure.  “It’s your life, Mr. Timberlake, but you need to remember how much this could affect Samantha’s life as well, especially if you cut off contact with her for any reason.”

I knew he was pissed then.  In all the time we’d known each other, he never called me that before.

“Bill...look...”

“Whether or not you want to admit it, the truth is, she kidnapped you for the sole purpose of getting her hands on your money.  She held you against your will, kept you bound and gagged...blindfolded, even drugged, and when you were shot, she would have finished what Charlie started if we hadn’t found you.  Granted, she was fragile, abused, and hooked on drugs at the time, but the facts are the facts and they’ll never change.  She broke the law, you were her victim, and she doesn’t deserve any compassion from you.  She’s been given enough in exchange for her testimony, and in some peoples eyes, maybe too much.”

“I...I know...”

“I’m done...really.  I’ve done all I can, and my opinion is meaningless now.  But don’t say I didn’t warn you when this blows up in your face, Justin.”

He hung up.

We haven’t spoken since.

I can’t really blame the guy, I guess.  I know...he was just trying to look out for me, keep me safe, because that was his job, but Sam wasn’t a threat to me, and I wasn’t one to her.  We could help each other.  I just knew it, and I was determined to make it work any way I could, no matter what I had to sacrifice, and as I would learn, that included pushing my relationships to the brink.

When Sam didn’t call me right away, I started to think that maybe...she’d been persuaded not to by Bill, or simply decided that it wasn’t a good idea.  I tried to understand, because it was a confusing, awkward idea, and she had a lot to deal with as it was without me adding more stress to her life.  I started to push the idea of her out of my head for a while, and instead I focused on the album...hardcore.  Christ, I lived at that studio.  I also finally went out to that dinner with Shelly.  I had been blowing her off due to the Samantha situation, made excuses that I had to work, or help Trace with something.  She took it in stride.  I knew she thought it was bullshit, but Shelly had learned to be patient with me because of what happened.

It proved that she still had strong feelings for me.

So I figured, what the hell?  I had to keep my mind busy, had to force myself out of the house because once I started to shut myself away, that was when the real trouble in my brain started and I hated remembering.  It was better to shut everything out until I talked to my shrink, and while he didn’t agree with the way I chose to cope between sessions, I didn’t care.  It was good enough for me.

“Hey.”

“H-hey.”

We awkwardly stood outside Katsuya, a favorite Sushi bar of ours, smiling ridiculously, each one of us not knowing what to say to the other.  I was ten minutes late, and when I pulled up and got out of the car, I fully expected her to tear into me about not caring, or whatever.  She didn’t though.  She didn’t seem to mind at all, only seemed to care that I was there, and it made me feel good.

It made me really glad to see her, and I started to remember...

I started to remember us, and how much I missed having her around.

“How’ve you been?”  I smiled, genuinely, before leaning in to plant a soft kiss on her cheek.  

“I’ve been good.”  She said it in that calm, confident tone she was famous for.  “Hungry?”

I opened the door for us.  “Starving.”

We were seated quickly, and since we always got the same thing, ordered just as fast.  Then it was just us, alone at that little table, and I admit, I had no idea what hell to say to her.

“So,” she smiled, knowing she had to be the one to break the ice.  “I heard the album is coming along.”

“Oh...oh yeah.  It is.  I’ve been living at that studio.”

“Yeah, Rachael’s been telling me about all those coffee runs you make her go on.  Poor girl.”

I just laughed.  “Hey, Trace is busy with William Rast.  You know that.”

“Still, you could call me sometimes, you know.  Maybe I could actually pull you away from your work for an hour or so to see the light of day.”

“I don’t know girl.  There’s not many things that can distract me from the studio.”

She just flashed me a smile.

I knew what that meant.

We were back at my place a couple of hours later, sweaty, naked, and rolling around in my bed.  It was the first physical encounter I had with a woman since my return home, and it was amazing...the sex, her, and waking up with her in my arms too.

“Does this mean we’re back together.”  She said it lazily as I cradled her close to my chest.  

“Do you want to be back together,” I laughed.

I admit, I wasn’t thinking.  I was swept up into her, wasn’t thinking about anything else, and had no idea what the following week would bring.

“Yeah,” she smiled and kissed me gently, before smoothing her hand over my cheek.  “I still love you, J.”

Naturally, Trace, Rachael, and the rest of my friends were ecstatic that I’d taken that step, and when my family found out, especially my mom, I knew they were all convinced that I had made it.  That I was back to my old self again.  For about thirty seconds, I believed that too.  Sure, I still had the occasional nightmare, but Shelly...she was there, she got me through, and I confessed a lot to her during that week.  I told her she got me through some serious shit, that I kept my head held high, stayed positive, because I wanted to come home to her and make things right again.

I’m a bastard...because I spoke too soon and didn’t think of the consequences.  Didn’t think about what would happen if I got that phone call, didn’t realize I would slip right back to the person I was when Sam wrote me that first time around.

I’m still paying for it, just like Bill told me I would be.

But I can’t stop myself from doing what I’m about to do either.

I was at the studio when she called.  I wish I hadn’t been.  Wish I’d been there to answer, because then maybe...I could have prevented all hell from breaking loose.  I guess I must have the worst luck in the world or something, because when I returned home that night to change, Trace and Rachael were both with me.  We were meeting a few people that night for dinner, including Shelly, and I have to admit, I was looking forward to it.

“Jesus, J. Can you please start checking your damn machine!” Rachael hollered it at me as I proceeded to guzzle some milk right from the carton.  “You have four new messages on here!”

Trace and I glanced at each other and laughed, decided to ignore her and start talking about a few business related things instead.  The clothing line was doing well. We’d just released our fall line, and all Trace could seem to do was go on and on about how well it was being accepted in the New York fashion scene.  

Beep....

Hey Justin, It’s Sonya.  I know you’re phone has been shut off because you’re a studio psycho, but could you please return my damn calls? Thanks.

Beep...

Hey Justin! It’s momma. Listen, I’m fixin to come out there in a week or so.  Johnny wants to sit down and talk about a few things.  Just call me when you can.  Love you.

Beep...

Justin! Johnny...hey give me a call so we can set up some kind of lunch or dinner thing all right?   Catch you later.

Beep...

This call is being transferred from a correctional institution. If this is a voice mailbox, the collect charges will be automatically billed to the authorized account holder when the message finishes.  Thank you.

Trace and I were laughing about something, but he automatically stopped when he heard that.  I think my heart stopped, and when I looked over at Rachael, she seemed frozen in place, staring down at the machine in disbelief, like it must have been lying to her.

Then:

“Um...hey Justin...it’s Sam.  Um...I guess I must have missed you.  I got your letter, and it took me like...forever to make this call, so I guess I deserve to talk to the machine.  I won’t get another call until next week.  I wanted to thank you for what you did.  I’m okay now.  Things have gotten a little better, so...maybe I can call you next week or something.  My calls are every Wednesday at three so if you’re home, maybe we can catch each other.  I hope you’re doing well.  Talk to you soon, hopefully.  Bye.

End of messages

“How the fuck...” Rachael trailed off, and then turned to face me.  “What the FUCK Justin?”

I couldn’t even look at her, because I knew how angry she was.  

Trace seemed to be the more logical one, but listening to what he had to say wasn’t much better.

“You wrote her a letter?”

I shrugged.

“Justin, are you fucking...are you out of your fucking mind or something?  The whole...thing with her...was done, remember? That’s why you see Walter every couple of days”

“It’s nothing.  It was just a letter.”

“Just a letter!” Rachael screamed. “How the hell did she get this number then?”

“Justin, come on,” Trace pushed.  “What the hell is going on?”

“I just...” I ran a hand through my hair.  “She wrote me so I...I thought...I just thought it wouldn’t be a big deal to give it to her...”

“You gave her your home number?”  Trace continued.  “Are you...really?  The fucking house number?”r32;

His face had turned bright red, and I knew him well.  I knew it only did that when he was completely enraged at somebody.

I was dead in the water.

“That’s it.”  I heard Rachael pick up the phone.  “Sick fucking psycho bitch...I swear to God...”  She started pounding the numbers on the phone.

I stepped forward, because I knew she was about to report Sam, and I wasn’t going to let that happen. “Stop.”  I pulled the phone away from her and hung it up.  “It’s not a big deal.”

She shoved me.  “Do you hear yourself!”

I raised my hands in the air.  “Rach, just calm down, please, okay?”

“You’re fucked up...still!  She’s still getting to you, even now, from a damn prison cell! Fuck..fuck, Justin!”

She started to sob, and that’s when I felt my heart sink to the lowest point inside of me.  She wasn’t just angry, she was terrified that I was talking to Sam, but she didn’t get it.  She couldn’t, and I knew why.   

“Do you see what you’re doing, Justin?”  Trace made his way over to Rachael and pulled her closer to him as she cried.  “Fucking sick bitch shouldn’t be calling you, and you shouldn’t be writing her fucking letters!”

I hung my head low, and when I looked up again, I was just in time to see Rachael rushing past me.

“Rach...”

She ran out of my house, and slammed the door behind her.

“Happy?”

I looked at him, not knowing what to say, but knew, out of all of my friends, Trace was probably the only one who had any sort of patience to hear my side of things.  “You act like I wanted that to happen.”

I walked into the living room, and heard him follow behind me.  

“It was bound to happen, don’t you think?”

I threw myself down on the sofa.  “I dunno.”

“What was she thanking you for?”

I stared at him, not knowing if I should tell him the truth.  But there was no point lying.  Somehow, I knew he would find out, and then be pissed at me for keeping it from him.  “She was having some problems, that’s all.  I had Bill take care of it.”

He laughed like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.  “You made Bill drop what he was doing...to help her scheming ass?”

“You don’t know her, Trace.”

“Oh, okay,” he laughed.  “Right.”r32;

I just shrugged.  “Well, it’s true.”

“Remember that day you talked to me?”

“Yeah.”

r32;“Well I had the pleasure of talking to her, and I think I figured out what she was all about then, so don’t fucking sit there and act like she should be recused!”

“That...that wasn’t her.  That’s not how...”

“Just shut up, J, all right?  I fucking swear, I know I’m shorter than you but I will pound your ass into the ground right now.  She terrorized this family, along with her boyfriend.  Fuck, it’s like, I want to tell everybody what’s going on, but I feel like if your mom finds out about this she’ll have you committed or something.”

“Don’t worry,” I let out a bitter laugh.  “I’m sure Rachael will call her the first chance she gets.”

“Doubt it.  She’s confused as fuck, she’s not gonna want to spring this on anybody right now either.”

To this day I don’t know what made me say it to him.

Maybe it’s just because he’s...he’s like the only person I’ve done stupid shit with that stood by me.  The only person besides my mom that knows me inside and out, and would take something I told him to the grave.

My brother.

“Trace.”

He collapsed onto the couch.  “I’m not sure if I want to talk to you right now.”

“I want to go see her, Trace.”

He looked at me, his face a pale shade of green, like he was about to be sick.  “What?”

“I...”  I looked down at my lap and pulled at the bottom of my shirt.  “I just want to see her.”

“Fuckin...no, are you nuts?  Yeah, of course you are, what am I saying? You give out your home phone number to psychotic kidnappers...”

“Are you going to help me or not?”

I said it so seriously, and after a couple of minutes, he knew I wasn’t playing around.

“You’re really fucking serious, aren’t you?”

I nodded.

“Well I’m not helping you.”  He rose to his feet.  “No way in hell.”

“Then I’ll do it myself.”

“No...you won’t do that either, asshole.”

“Stop me.”  I glared at him.

“They’re not just going to let you walk in there,” he scoffed.  “It’s a prison.”

I got up from the couch, walked right up to him and smirked.  “People tend to back down for me.  It’s not everyday a famous celebrity waltzes into a prison.”

“You’ve lost your god damn mind.”

“Maybe.”

I walked out on him.  Funnily enough, I went to dinner.  Rachael, of course, was a no show, but after a half hour, Trace showed his face.  I was acting unfazed by the whole thing of course, and our friends were none the wiser, not even Shelly.  I knew Trace wouldn’t say a word.  He never did.  That’s why he was my best friend.

I acted quickly.  I didn’t want to wait until the following Wednesday to hear from Sam again.  I knew it would drive me crazy if I stayed home, shut up in my house, waiting for the phone to ring.  I worked in the studio during the rest of the week, and through the weekend.  When Monday came around I told Timb that I was going to take a couple of days for myself and he seemed relieved.  I knew he was exhausted too, so that meant he wouldn’t ask me any questions.

That was good.

I’d been in contact with a lawyer from New York City.  A good friend of mine passed his number a long to me Friday afternoon.  I told him that I was looking for somebody to handle some business for the line out on the East coast, that I wanted the best that money could buy.  He told me the guy was really good.  Handled a lot of high profile cases, and kept a lot of celebrity clients on his roster.  He said he did a lot of criminal work, but he was also good with contractual stuff too.

That was all I needed.  Somebody who was great with criminal work, that I could trust to get the job done.

I’d long ago convinced myself that I was going to try to get Sam out of jail if I could.

I called him, and when I told him what my plans were, he was quiet for a few moments before asking me if I was sure I wanted to go through with it.  I told him I was, and wasn’t about to play around...that I could find somebody else.

So he agreed to fly out and meet Sam, see what he could do about getting her a new trial.

“Where are you going?”

I was throwing my second overnight bag into the trunk of my car when I heard him behind me.  I cursed myself silently.  Trace wasn’t supposed to interfere on my little road trip.  I told him I would be in the studio non stop, and I didn’t want any distractions.

Only, he was too smart for me.

“Just leave it alone, Trace.”  I slammed my trunk closed.

“So you thought you could just....what? Turn your phone off and expect me to believe that you wouldn’t pull some crazy shit like this? Justin, your mom is going to be here at the end of the week.  What the hell I
are you going to tell her?”

I just shrugged.  “I’m not concerned about that right now.”  I walked around to the drivers side door and opened it, having every intention of getting in and driving away from him.  “I love her.  That’s all that matters.”

For a few moments he looked like he was going to be sick, but then seemed to get himself together again.  “Fuck...look...”  He squeezed himself between me and the open doorway.  “You can’t just...go do this alone.”

“Well I have to.  I’m doing it, Trace.  I stopped caring about what you think, because you’ll never understand.”

He sighed harshly and shook his head.  “Maybe not, but I’m coming with you.  So move.  I’m driving.”

I stared at him for several moments, debating if he was for real.  If he was going to take me where I wanted to go or simply drive me to the FBI office so they could lock me down for a week so I could get my head together or something.  It was something in his eyes though.  Something that told me while he hated what I wanted to do, hated Sam, he cared about me too much to let me go off and see her on my own.

“Fine.”

I got in on the passenger side, and then I turned my cell phone on, to make sure I didn’t have any important messages I needed to get back to right away.  Of course Trace had called me about fifty times, and Shelly had called me about a dozen times as well.  She left me a voicemail, which I listened to.  Naturally, she wasn’t happy that I hadn’t returned her calls and wanted to know what the deal was.

I erased it.

I’m sure when I get back to LA, I won’t have a girlfriend anymore.

But that doesn’t bother me as much as it should.

“I still don't understand why you're doing this."

I sigh heavily.  Trace means well, and I know if the situation were reversed, I'd be just as confused.  But it's not reversed.  "I don't expect you to understand," I speak up softly.  "You didn't have to come."

He glances at me from the corner of his eye as he drives.  "Fuck, Justin.  I wasn't about to let you come up here by yourself, and I know nobody else would have taken you."

"I would have come by myself." 

"Let me get a little hypothetical, J.  Let's say you guys talk, and she starts to tell you that she really does have feelings for you.  How are you gonna know that it's not some act?  How are you gonna know she's not just using you because you're fucking vulnerable, and she doesn't want to spend the next thirty or so years in prison? I mean, lets' face it...she's the type that does what she has to do to survive."

"She's not like that," I grunt.  "I wish you could just talk to her, Trace.  I wish you could see her like I do."

"I have no desire to talk to her," he says, disgusted.  "She drugged you, dragged you off to some fucking hellhole and helped her twisted boyfriend to keep you there for a week.  How the fuck you expect me to "see her" like you do, is beyond me.  You know what I wish?  I wish you would take your family's advice and listen to that shrink.  That's what you need, not a trip down memory lane.  I mean, what the fuck are you gonna talk about, Justin?  You act like you're old friends or something, and she's just on a temporary vacation."

"I told you what happened," I whisper.  "It's not like you make it sound.  She's a good person she was just...sort of brainwashed for awhile.  She didn't have options."

"Fuck that," he grunts. "If things worked out differently, she would have killed you."

I look over at him.  His jaw is clenched in frustration and he's shaking his head roughly, like he can't believe what's going on right now.  "She shot him before he could kill me. If she wanted me dead, she would have let him do it."

"How long are you staying?" He says, completely avoiding what I just said to him.  "I have to think of a good story to tell your folks.  Fuck, maybe I'll just go to Mexico or something, and tell them you came with me. At least there I can get drunk and bang my girl in peace, and your mom will be thrilled I got you to leave your house for once. It's so fucked up, man," he laughs sadly.  "You know, I've been trying for months to get you back into the swing of things, to come party with us more than you do, and you refuse.  But you're fine with checking into some hotel and staying in bum fuck California by yourself for a couple of days."

There's nothing I can really say to make him change his mind about this. He thinks I'm fucked up, that Samantha is nothing more than a ruthless criminal, and I have to accept his opinion and not push him about it.  At least he hasn't turned his back on me, gone to my folks and told them what I'm trying to do.  But Trace isn't the type.  He's practically my brother, and we have one of those sacred bonds.  And this...this is something he'd take to the grave with him.  He knows that if he didn't, my mom would probably commit me or something, so in a sense...he's shielding me from that.

But that doesn't mean he has to like it.

"Two, maybe three days," I tell him.  "I talked to a lawyer and he’s flying in from New York to talk about our options.  He really thinks that she has a shot at an appeal if I testify on her behalf, since I didn't testify at her original trial."

"Psh."  He shakes his head again. "If you have time, think about why you couldn't testify at her original trial, Justin."

"That wasn't her fault."

He eyes me skeptically.  "You're really dense."

I decide to drop the subject for now.  It's apparent that he's getting more heated as we get into what's going on, so I'll let him think for awhile and wait for him to speak up again.  I focus my attention on the open road ahead.  It's pretty desolate now, we left the busy city highway behind hours ago.  The signs looming overhead point to a town called Chowchilla.  There's a prison there.

That's where she is.

"I hope that if I ever do something fucked up enough to land me in prison, you'll drive four hours to see my ass, Justin."

I look over at him again, expecting to see that same look of disgust spread across his face.  It's not there anymore though...not really.  He's sort of smirking, probably trying to make the best of this.  "Maybe, if I have enough gas."  

He looks at me, and I start to laugh.

He sighs.  "Just promise me that you'll call, so I know you didn't get murdered by some escaped prisoner."

His tone is plagued with worry now instead of anger, and I know he's starting to loosen up a little.  I know all he really wants for me is to get back to normal...to start living again, to be happy.  "I'll call, Trace."

He drives off the exit, and starts to follow the signs that lead to the Central California Women's Facility.  It's silent now.  I think I'm too nervous to say anything, and Trace is just freaked the hell out.  I wonder what she looks like, if she's feeling any better now that he's out of her life for good.

I wonder if she still loves me.

My hand closes around the letter she wrote me.  I have it memorized, word for word.  There's so much concern in it, so much love...just for me, even though she's the one that's facing a horrible fate.  One that she doesn't deserve, even though the majority thinks she does.

Now more than ever,  I know why this happened to me.

It happened so I could save her.