Louis shivered and slung his arm around Annabelle's shoulders. Neither of them had said a word after their kiss. He'd been the one to pull away to study her eyes. They were . . . bright, happy, alive.

She liked it, he thought giddily. He wanted to kiss her again, but he'd been broken off by a cough and then a sneeze. The nausea was back now, and he felt bad for kissing her when he was sick.

He'd tried to apologize, but she put a finger to his lips and left the bathroom, returning a minute later with some old clothes that her brother had stored there.

Seconds after he got dressed his body tried bring something up, but there was nothing in his stomach. He felt like an idiot, gagging over her toilet and crying because he was in pain. Surely he looked stupid, he thought, but Annie stood there the whole time.

With her hand on my back, he recalled. It had felt nice, but at the same time it made him a bit nervous.

Annabelle was strangely quiet as she wrapped an arm around his waist and led him back to the living room.

"You sure you don't want the bed?" She asked finally.

"I want to stay with you," Louis sighed weakly. "I f-feel better with you."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And I . . . I've never been sick on my own before, not really. I mean, last time I was talking to you, so I didn't feel alone. I . . . I get scared on my own."

"Why?"

"I was alone once, and I didn't like it. Lisa found me passed out, lying in my own vomit in our backyard." Louis shivered at the memory ad tightened his grip on her shoulders. "I'm getting dizzy, Annie."

"Just a few more steps." She coaxed, wrapping her other arm around him.

He liked the feel of her arms around him waist--soft, caring . . . low on his body.

A shiver went up his spine and he clung tightly to her as black spots appeared at the edges of his vision.

"Annie," he said warningly.

"It's okay, baby, we're here now." She said softly, and a moment later she sat him down on the couch.

She looked at her brother, and Louis blinked as he watched her use a foot the push Lucas off the couch.

He landed with a thud. "Huh, um, whaaaa--"

Lucas broke off in a snore, and Louis bit back a laugh as Annabelle sat down beside him and wrapped a blanket around him.

"I feel like a caterpillar," he grumbled, and wrestled the blanket off to throw on top of Lucas. "I want to feel you instead of that."

Annabelle giggled and wrapped her arm around him as he snuggled closer and nestled his face in her neck.

"You smell good," he whispered, his lips brushing her skin with each word.

"It's called body wash," she giggled again.

Louis didn't care and nuzzled deeper into her side, completely hiding his face.

He yawned and murmured, "I don't feel good, Annie."

"I know you don't, baby, just close your eyes and get some sleep."

"I'm scared to," he admitted.

"I'll be right here when you wake up," she promised.

Something about her voice made him look up at her. "Promise?"

"I promise."

"I love you," Louis whispered, believing her.

Annabelle took a deep breath and kissed his firehead, leaving his skin tingling. "I love you, too."

Louis smiled tiredly and nestled his face back in her neck as his eyelids grew heavy.

"Annie?"

"Yes?"

"Don't let me . . . fall . . . asleep." He said between yawns.

"Why not?"

"Just d-don't, please."

"Okay,"

Five minutes later Louis yawned, trying not to drool on Annie's shoulder. "I'm . . . very tired . . . Annie."

"Just close your eyes," Annie yawned softly. "It's late."

Louis was so tired that he didn't have the strength to keep his eyes open anymore, so he listened to her.

"Daddy, what are you doing?" Louis yawned. "Why are you here?"

His father didn't answer, and his eyes seemed to glint in the dark.

"Daddy, why did you wake me up?" Louis asked, sitting up. He glanced at his alarm clock. "It's only eleven, daddy."

"I'm tired, bud." His father growled.

"Then come sleep," Louis grinned and pat the bed, scooting over to make room.

"You're a big boy, right, Louis?"

"Yes, daddy. I'm six now."

His father stared at him, his eyes unfocused.

"Daddy, why do you look so funny?" Louis asked nervously. "Are you sick?"

This seemed to anger his father, because the man's hand came across Louis' face.

"Ouch!" Louis shrieked. "Daddy, what did I do?"

His father blinked and held out a white pill. "Take this,"

"Why? What is it?"

"It's to help you sleep,"

"But I'm tired already,"

"Take it! I need you to stay asleep until morning, so you don't come out when you shouldn't."

"But daddy--"

"Take it!"

When Louis started to ask another question, his father lunged at him, trying to force the pill down his throat.

"Swallow it!" His father hissed. "Your mouth makes saliva, doesn't it?"

Louis did, but only because it was already halfway down his throat and he felt as though he was choking.

Afterwards his father left and Louis lay in the quiet for a few minutes, terrified, and then he got up to get some water. He was quiet, tiptoeing in the dark in case his father was still mad at him.

When he reached the living room he saw his father sitting at the couch with a needle in his arm. Louis watched silently, not sure what was going on and too afraid to ask.

His mother entered from the kitchen and dropped whatever she had been holding in her hands. Whatever it was, it broke, and Louis jumped at the sound. Afterwards he wasn't really sure what he had seen. His eyes were getting tired, and he couldn't seem to keep them open. He heard arguing of course, but this was nothing new. What was new was seeing his father slap his wife like that, grab her and make her arms red.

Louis backed away quietly, wanting to run to help his mother but knowing he was too little. He was getting dizzy, and he was scared. He went into the bathroom and on his way out he swallowed a mouthful of water from the tap, then ran and leapt into Lisa's bed.

Even asleep she knew he was there, and wrapped an arm around him protectively.

The same thing happened the next two nights until Louis passed out at breakfast and needed his stomach pumped at the hospital. Unfortunately it wasn't for the last time, and in the future it always got worse.

When Louis was twelve, for instance, he came home early from school because of a migraine. What he hadn't known was that his dad was home too, and he hadn't known a woman was there.

Years later he still didn't know what happened. All he could remember was that his father had a belt, and that Louis walked outside with blood coming from the lashes he'd received, on his back, his chest; his face was black and blue courtesy of his father's fists, and next thing he knew he was on hands and knees in the grass, coughing up blood and throwing up. Later he woke up in the hospital and Lisa explained that she had found him. Their father had disappeared, and Louis was positive he would come back. He did, and the same scenario played out twice more before his father disappeared for good.

Louis wished he hadn't remembered that day. He wished Lisa hadn't come home early that day. The police wouldn't have questioned her then. There wouldn't be blood in the house then, on her hands.

Louis still couldn't quite remember everything. He had been choking over the sink when Lisa came in; he'd been trying desperately to get up whatever his father had forced down his throat, but as usual his father had other ideas and had put him in a choke hold.

His throat burned and his eyes stung and his body ached and he begged and cried, but still his father held him.

Louis remembered the pocket knife he had stolen from his dad's drawer; he'd carried it around all year, but he could never once think of a way to make it seem as though it was used in self defense. Now though, he didn't have a choice. He couldn't breathe, and he was woozy.

"Daddy, please. Tell me what I did!" He choked out, and his father tightened his arm.

"You were born," he hissed in his ear.

Louis fingers fumbled in his pocket, feeling for the handle. He couldn't remember when he actually grabbed it and he couldn't remember when he opened it, but he could remember when the blade sank in between his father's ribs. He remembered the cursing and rhe blood and he remembered collapsing on the floor struggling for breath.

He remembered his dad grabbing at him, sliding the pocketknife across the skim at his ribs.

For the first time, Louis knew his father wanted him dead--but he would give him pain first. And for the first time, Louis didn't try to fight.

"Just kill me," he sobbed. "Just kill me, it hurts too much. You're going to kill me anyway. What happened? We used to be a good family, you used to like me."

"What happened, kid, is you got difficult."

"What happened is you became an addict," Lisa's voice rang out. "You're crazy."

Louis opened his eyes, but he couldn't see her. Everything was fuzzy, fading out. His brain hurt, and his stomach twisted in knots, warm and burning. The sight of his own blood made him throw up on himself, and that only made him cry harder.

"I'm done!" He shrieked. "I can't do it anymore! I'm in pain, Lisa!"

"You don't have to be anymore, Lou." She whispered. "Trust me. You'll be okay now."

"He'll just keep hurting me!" Louis yelled. His tears burned his cheeks, feeling like acid. "He doesn't quit! He just keeps coming back! I don't want it!"

His father punched him square in the face and his ears rung, growing louder and louder until it was a constant, shriek of a buzz, like something being slammed against a metal telephone pole, a humming shriek.

He heard a gun go off, and watched his father fall on top of him, lifeless, before Louis passed out. When he woke in the hospital, he had half a dozen new scars, a broken nose, and an arm that had been snapped in two places. He had bruises on his neck and a popped blood vessel, a severe concussion, and stitches in his lip. He had a bruised kidney, his stomach had been pumped, and he had three broken ribs. He'd been in a coma for nine days.

His first concern was Lisa. She came into the room two days later, crying and thanking God he would be okay. Then she told him that would be going away for a few months, and a policeman had taken her away. His mom explained that Lisa was being held at the local jail until the matter was sorted out.

Two weeks later came the court hearing, and another week later Lisa was home.

Louis woke up screaming, terrified.

"Mama!" He shrieked, not realizing where he was. "Mama!"

He felt someone's arm wrap around his chest, pulling him into their body. His eyes still weren't seeing, still stuck in the nightmare.

"You're okay, you're okay." A female voice whispered in his ear, over and over until he heard it, and kept saying it even after that.

Louis felt someone shaking--was that him? He felt warm tears over his face. His nose was getting stuffed up. It was all making his head fuzzy and his stomach ache. He smelled flowers, and realized the arms around him were thin and strong, shaking slightly, as though they hadn't held a man in a very long time.

"Annie?" He whispered hoarsely. "Annie, is that you?"

"Yes, Lou, it's me. I'm here." Annie's voice came softly.

Louis twisted a little, turning just enough so that he could rest his head on her chest. "I didn't know where I was."

"I know, it's okay now, you're okay."

"Sc-scared, Annie." His voice was all but a whisper, raspy and breathless and kind of shrill from panic. "Haven't--nightmare--long time--bad memories--hurts."

"What hurts? What was the nightmare about?" Annie asked, still holding him tightly. One hand went up to stroke through his hair.

"D-D-Daddy," he choked out. His eyes glassed over again as he resaw the image of his father falling onto him. "H-h-hospital--hurt--Lisa--jail--mama--'busin' her--hurtin' me. . ."

He heard Annie's breath hitch. His breath was rapid, shaky. He couldn't speak properly, but he had to tell Annie everything--he wanted to, needed to.

"I love you, Annie." He said, taking a shaky breath as his sobs subsided. "I love you so, so much. I love you so much, Annie, do you know that? Do you know that?"

"I know that," Annie whispered. "And I love you too, Lou."

They were quiet for a few minutes, Louis sniffling and Annie holding him, running her fingers through his hair. His eyes refocused, and he realized he was in Annie's living room. Lucas was watching silently from under a blanket, occasionally blinking and wisely choosing to stay quiet until he finally stood and went into the bathroom. Louis knew it was just am excuse, a way to leave them alone and a way to get out of an embarrassing situation.

"Don't leave me," he whispered finally.

"Never," Annie shook her head and kissed the top of his head.

Louis sighed in content at her touch, then sat up a bit to look at her. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely," she smiled with closed lips and used her thumbs to brush his tears away.

Louis sniffled and rubbed his nose on his arm. "You promise? No matter what?"

"No matter what." She whispered, her tone firm.

Louis sat up straight, biting his lip. "Then I have something to show you."

"Okay," Annie looked confused, but nodded anyways.

He knew what Annie had meant before, about knowing when he was ready to talk about the long story. Lisa had been the long story, the one he had been referring to. But this, the abuse, the drugs, his father--it was all a part of it.

And he was ready to tell her all of it.