Nash sat on the edge of the tub, his head bowed and his shoulders small and cowering. He’d taken off his sweatshirt, and when I’d first caught sight of the painful red welts lashed across his back and the purple bruises covering his ribs, I wasn’t sure if I should have woken my momma. I was terrified. I couldn’t be sure he didn’t need to go the hospital. But Nash pleaded with me not to say anything to anyone, so I didn’t say a word. I tended to him as best I could, as quietly as I could so as not to wake Momma. As I padded the open welts across his back with antiseptic ointment, I could feel a wayward tear trail over the curve of my cheek. I quickly wiped it away with the sleeve of my pajama shirt. I couldn’t let him see me cry.

“What did he do to you?” I whispered under my breath, unsure he’d even heard me.

“Belt.” Nash’s hushed voice was full of an uncharacteristic fragility that just about broke my heart. I closed my eyes a moment, an involuntary shudder coursing through me.

“I hate him,” he hissed between gritted teeth, flinching away from every one of my tender touches.

So do I, I thought silently to myself. “I’m so sorry, Nash.”

Nothing more was said between the two of us. I did all I could to ease his suffering, and he sat silently. He was so strong through the worst pain imaginable, and all the while my heart continued breaking for him. He didn’t deserve this. Nobody did. I wished I could help save him from his horrible daddy.

Nash and I lay together in my bed, side by side, staring up at the shadows cast from outside as they danced across the ceiling to an imaginary tune. I reached under the covers, finding Nash’s hand by his side, and without a word, I took it in mine, lacing my fingers through his, holding him tight.

“I’ll always be here for you, Nash.” My voice was a whisper, but the silence seemed to make my promise echo through the air around us.

Holding my hand so tight as if he couldn’t possibly bear to let me go, Nash rolled onto his side. He looked at me for a long moment, his mischievous eyes sparkling through the muted light of the moon seeping in through open curtains.

“One day some lucky guy is gonna come into your life and steal you away from me,” he whispered back, pulling my hand closer and enveloping it in both of his, holding it tight.

Never once breaking our hold, I rolled onto my side, facing him, our noses a mere hair’s breadth from one another. For a long moment we simply lay there, staring into each other’s eyes, our silence speaking volumes.

“Nobody is ever going to take me away from you,” I said in a hushed tone.

My eyes moved down to his lips. His perfectly pouted lips, glistening in the darkness. I was only 14 years old. I’d never been kissed.