(possible triggering? only a little but I thought I would warn you all just in case)

LUKE

My eyes open groggily the next morning, blinking through the darkness of my room, a line of light casting across the room from the slit in my curtains. I sit up slowly, rubbing my eyes with my fists before stretching slightly, a grunt releasing itself from my lips. I crack my knuckles before swinging my long legs over the side of the bed, standing up and flicking on the lights. I squint my eyes at the sudden brightness.

I shuffle across the bedroom floor, pulling on a random Green Day t-shirt and black jeans and converse before sliding in my familiar lip ring. I coat my fingers in hair gel and style my hair into its usual quiff until I'm somewhat satisfied with how I look.

I leave my backpack on the ground by the bedroom door, full of homework I didn't do over the weekend. It doesn't matter though, because I've decided that I'm going to skip today. I want to see if Michael will show up, and the thought of sitting through meaningless classes makes me want to throw up.

So I open the door, revealing an empty hallway of doors, and opening up to empty rooms. I trudge down the staircase and straight out the front door after grabbing my phone from where it was charging. Sliding it into my pocket, I stride out the front door, stepping onto the sidewalk and slipping into the woods. I push through the weeds and trees of the thick greenery. Animals scurry away from the sound of my feet, and I breathe in the fresh, damp air slowly, trying to calm my beating heart. I'm praying that Michael will be there, because if he isn't, it's obvious something is wrong.

The river gets louder and louder in my ears until I reach the familiar stone. I look up and feel my heart drop into my stomach when I see the smooth stone hopelessly and bitterly empty of a boy with colorful hair. I huff and breath in deep once again, filling my lungs with enough efficient oxygen to force myself to collapse into the bushes, pulling my knees up to my chin and resting it on top of the fraying holes in my jeans.

I'm so nervous about what could have happened to him, or what could be happening to him. I don't know enough about him to know where his house could be, or if he even has a home. Does he just live in the woods? Surely he has a mum or dad, or some siblings.

I push myself up to my feet and decide I should just start searching for a home or something, some sort of shelter he may be living in. I start walking in a random direction, not really caring as long as it led me to him. The sunlight peaks through the trees against the effervescent blue sky, shining in random spots on the grass. The air is crisp from the morning, but is warming up quickly as the morning progresses into afternoon. I try to get a grip of my surroundings, looking around for anything familiar, but the only familiar thing I can find is the sound of the river, which keeps me sane for the little while.

I reach the trail that leads back to the neighborhood of houses in town, so I turn around and quickly hike back the other way, figuring I went in the wrong direction. A voice chimes sarcastically in my head. Of course it wouldn't be over here. It's so close to the school back here. I can almost see the back door of the gym locker room through the trees.

As I push through the shrubs and bushes though, I notice the trees begin to thin, less of them and slimmer trunks until I stumble into a clearing, empty of trees and bushes whatsoever. My eyes widen at the sight in front of me.

A house. Not a nice one, but a house nonetheless. I am positive this is where Michael lives. I take a few steps forward, shielding my eyes from the sun as I take in the structure of the building. It's made completely of wood, three windows carved into the front of the house. A few of the panes are broken, and some pieces of glass are missing, as though something had been thrown at it and shattered it. The shutters guarding the windows are cracked and falling apart, hardly able to keep itself together. The front door looks thin and flimsy, barely standing at all. I take in the ramshackle building with wide eyes, trying to sort out the mixture of emotions inside of me.

That's when I hear the yelling.

It's a grown man, the voice deeper and much rougher than Michael's. It's screaming guttural words, and I strain to comprehend the words. I hear a crash from inside, and a loud shatter of glass, and that's when I step away from the edge of the woods and dash into the clearing, running up the front steps to the front door. I consider knocking, but the voice starts screaming again, and this time I hear Michael's name stand out in his voice.

I reach for the doorknob, but as my fingertips touch it, the entire thing seems to tip over itself. I stare at it as it tumbles over, falling in on itself. I step haphazardly through the doorway, careful not to step on any splintering pieces of wood as I enter the home. The shouting doesn't cease.

I run through the small foyer and halt at the doorway of a main living area, where furniture is turned over and debris is littered across the ground. I recognize the brown glass as the hard exterior of a beer bottle, and the unmistakable stench of alcohol fills the air inside the house, suffocatingly strong.

I see a large man, clad in a black t-shirt and filthy sweatpants, standing at the corner of the room, a beer bottle in his left hand. I tentatively step forward, moving stealthily towards the man as I try not to make any noise. I attempt to figure out what he is yelling at, but can't seem to wrap my mind around it. The man's voice is too thick to understand what he is trying to say, even standing this close to him. I can see his broad shoulders underneath the shirt, and I let out a strangled gasp when I see him duck his arm down suddenly to hit something solid, earning a sob from someone in the corner. Michael.

I leap forward, rage firing up inside me like a flame. I take a handful of the man's hair into my fist and jerk him back, slamming him into the wall. The man's features are eerily similar to Michael's- light green eyes and pale skin, plump pink lips and thick eyebrows. His face is less structured though, round and dirty and reeking of alcohol. The man narrows his eyes at me, but I don't let him speak as I lift a fist to punch him in the jaw.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" I growl at him lowly. The man pushes me roughly off him, but I only stumble a little bit, his strength a tad flimsy from the drinking.

"Who the fuck are you?" Michael's dad snaps, and I wrap my fingers around his neck and slam him to the ground, a crack sounding and he lets out a choked sound. I climb on top of him, hitting him repeatedly anywhere I can place my fist.

"That doesn't fucking matter!" I scream in his face. "What matters is that you're beating up Michael. He hasn't done anything to you!"

The man spits in my face, blood and saliva mixed into one. I force myself not to flinch. "He's a fucking abomination. He's gay. The little shit deserves it." He tosses a well-aimed blow to my nose, and I can feel my lip bust and blood gush from my nose.

I punch him in the mouth, the overwhelming urge to knock each and every one of his teeth out so he can't speak anymore filling me, but I lean towards him, my nose an inch away from his as I bore my icy eyes into his.

"You touch him one more time, and I kill you. Do you understand this?" I growl at him, licking my lips and tasting the copper taste of blood on my tongue. The man just sneers at me, so I kick him roughly in the ribs, throwing several more hits to him. All I can think of is the bruises on Michael's arm, and the fact that I've been letting him go all the time, back to this hellacious home with this abusive shit of a father. The thought drives me insane, until I realize Michael's father is completely passed out under me, blood covering my hands and clothes.

I scramble off of the man, glass digging into my skin, but I pay no mind to it. I force myself to look at Michael, who lays limp in the corner. He hasn't made a sound this entire time, and that terrifies me. His face is badly beaten up. One of his eyes is puffy and swollen, his jaw and cheekbones dark and bruised. Blood is soaked through his shirt, and more bruises line his arms and legs. I choke a little before rushing over to the boy. I lift him up, carrying him princess style as I sprint out of the house. Michael stirs in my arms.

"L-Luke, -" he can barely get my name out before sobbing, fresh tears rolling down his cheeks. I feel like every bone in my body is being crushed under the weight of the situation. His skinny arms wrap around my neck and hold on to me tightly as I dash back into the woods, running to the trail where the houses are.

"Shh." I whisper, hardly able to make the sound as I hold on to the boy firmly against my heaving chest. I see my house and go up to the front door, twisting the doorknob and sprinting inside, not bothering to close the door behind me. I carry Michael straight into the kitchen, his lilac hair brushing against my chin as I sit him down on the counter, propping him against the cabinets. He moans softly at the contact, and I step back, looking wildly around the kitchen. I begin throwing open drawers, knives and forks clattering to the ground as I search through the cupboards for a first aid kit. Five long minutes drag by before I come up with one, sitting in the very back of a dusty cabinet. I snatch it up, forcing it open with my fingernails and digging through it until I find some bandages and disinfectant medication. I grab a cloth and shakily pour some of the ointment onto the warm fabric, my hand trembling. I then turn to Michael, who stares at me with wide eyes as I touch the cloth to his face as tenderly as possible. He grimaces, hissing at the stinging it brings but I shake my head, stroking his hair to calm him. I grab bandages and fix them over his cuts. I then look at all the bruises. How do you fix a bruise? I grab an ice pack and hand it o Michael.

"Put this over your eye." I demand, and Michael obeys quickly, taking the ice and pressing it over his swollen left eye. I lean back, breathing heavily as I force myself to calm down.

"Okay, Michael, I'm going to need you to-to take off your shirt so that I can treat your b-bruises." I stammer out, wiping a few tears from my face at the situation. I can't believe that I was so oblivious to this. I should have forced Michael to tell me about why the bruises were there, I shouldn't have dropped it so easily.

Michael shakes his head rapidly, dropping the ice pack to his lap for a second before bringing it back up again. He averts his eyes from me, refusing to meet my gaze and I sigh.

"Please, Michael?" I beg. "I need to see how bad it is." He then makes eye contact with me, dropping the ice pack and sitting it on the granite countertop beside him. His fingers stay still in his lap, not moving to remove his long sleeved t-shirt, but he doesn't stop me when I move slowly towards him. I lift quivering fingers to touch the hem of his shirt, not removing eye contact with him. Michael nods his head, barely moving it all, but it's enough to know that he is okay with this. I begin to peel off the t-shirt, all too aware of the blood soaked through a portion of it by his ribcage. He lifts his arms slightly to allow me to pull it over his head, and he squeaks when it brushes against his swollen eye.

"Sorry, I'm sorry." I choke out, crumbling up the t-shirt in my hands and dropping it on the ground. I then level my eyes down to his torso, and I nearly start sobbing at the sight of the amount of dark bruises inked into his skin. His body is dangerously skinny- I can count every single one of his ribs and his collarbones protrude way farther out then is considered healthy. His skin is stretched across his chest tautly, and I barely miss the tears streaming down Michael's cheeks.

He wraps his scrawny arms around himself, causing me to look up at him. His eyes are closed, his pink lips turned into a frown. He starts stammering out words and pleads that I can't understand, but I can tell he is ashamed, when he shouldn't be at all.

"Shh. Stop." I murmur, pulling his arms carefully away from his torso. I put a finger under his chin to make him look up and meet me at my eyes.

"You are okay. You look beau-" I cough. "You look fine, I just need to fix you up, alright?" Michael meets my eyes and nods silently while I look back at his torso, staring at the gash on his side.

I grab a wet washcloth and start cleaning away the blood, trying my best to ignore the whimpers from the boy. Once the blood is washed away, the wound is clearer to see. It isn't too deep, but it is enough to know that it hurts like hell. I grab the ointment and look at Michael apologetically. He whines when he sees me pouring it and he reaches out at me, his pale fingers grabbing my broad shoulders for support as I slowly press it against his wound, and I feel like crying when quiet tears roll endlessly down the boy's cheeks. I pull it away as fast as I could, and plaster a large bandage over it so it can heal. I quickly clean up the bruises, not knowing what else to do but to swipe a cool washcloth over it to remove any excess blood. I move over to his arms, analyzing them to see if any serious damage has been done to them. Michael tenses up, his fingers grabbing one another friskily.

I'm not sure why until I turn his arm over to reveal faded lines cut jaggedly across the wrists of both arms. They are a faded pink, but I can nearly see the pain and torture encrypted in each serrated line. My heart drops. I don't know what to do; my vision is going in and out of focus as Michael rips his arms away from my grip. The sounds of his cries float distantly to my ears as I sway a little bit.

"Michael." I whisper, looking up at the pallid boy. His purple hair lays flat against his head, wisps flying by his ears. His pale eyes refuse to look at me, and I can see him shaking, his legs crossed together and his shoulder slumped as he turns his head away from me. I quickly reach over and wrap my arms around his tiny frame, feeling the coldness of his body and the bareness of his bruised skin against my shirt.

"Michael, look at me." I say, and the colorful boy declines. "Please, Michael." The boy bites his pink lip, shutting his eyes as a single tear moves down his prominent cheekbones. I sigh softly and let go of him, and Michael whimpers at the loss of contact. I push myself up on the counter beside him, pushing away the ice pack that has melted into cold water by now. I slide closer to him and wrap my arm around his thin shoulders, pulling his head to my chest.

"Please, please don't every do that again." I say against his hair. "You're too perfect to do that. Don't do that to yourself." I don't really register what I'm saying; I'm just talking and hoping that a few of my words will get through to Michael.

He nods slowly, hesitating slightly. He then carefully pulls away, groaning at the pain in the movements and grabs his shirt, pulling it on quickly before I can help him.

Just then the door opens, and I hear Ashton's loud footsteps and the heavy drop of his backpack.

"Luke, where are you, you little shit?" Ashton calls out. I push myself off the counter and give a small smile to Michael. "Did you seriously skip? Because if you did, you picked the wrong day. There was this hot new teacher in English, and she-"

Ashton's voice cuts off abruptly when he walks into the kitchen, seeing Michael on the counter, bandages covering his face and bruises marking his skin. He glances at me and gapes at my face.

"Luke, what the hell?" Ashton barks, sprinting to the sink and wetting another cloth before coming towards me angrily.

"I'll explain everything later, Ash, it's a-" I'm cut off by Ashton smacking the dripping fabric against my mouth, and I stare at him confusedly before remembering that Michael's father had punched me there. Ashton slowly cleans the blood off my lips and nose before tossing the red cloth carelessly on the ground. I feel bad for my aunt, considering she's the one who will be cleaning all this up.

Ashton grabs my wrist and yanks me out of the room, shutting the door to the kitchen and whispering, "Why the hell are you and Michael all bruised and cut up?"

"He cuts." I say abruptly back, my voice low. The door is thick, so there is no way Michael could hear us, but I feel like my chest is deflating.

"What?" Ashton says, his voice immensely softer than before. Something fills his eyes that I can't quite understand.

"He cuts." I repeat, not seeing any other way to get the information out. Ashton shrinks a little, leaning against the door and looking deep in thought.

"I'm going to go talk to him." He tells me absentmindedly.

"Why?" I ask, and Ashton looks up at me, his hazel eyes looking a little faded in color.

"I understand how he feels. I used to, too." Ashton explains, and I gape at him, my eyes darting down to his wrists. A clump of bracelets surrounds one, and the other looks clear. Ashton notices my observing eyes and scoffs.

"It was a while ago. You wouldn't be able to see the scars if you tried. But the memories last, you know. You still remember how it feels." Ashton says, and with that he opens the door and steps into the kitchen. He goes up to Michael, who looks up from his lap shyly, staring timidly at my cousin.

I turn away, running up the staircase to my bedroom and grabbing a large backpack from my closet. I stuff it full of clothes and some snacks I have around my room. I grab everything essential I think I might need and then zip it up, worried the zipper might break but ignore the thought as I sprint back out of the room, going back down the staircase to the kitchen, where Ashton and Michael have stopped talking and are casually watching television. They both look up at me, and I gesture to Michael.

"Let's go." I say simply, and Ashton stares at me, obviously confused. Michael jumps down from the counter without hesitation and trots over to me.

"What? Where are you going?" Ashton asks, turning away from the television.

"We can't stay here, Ash. At least for now. His dad, he- you have to understand." I tell my short cousin, but I am already backpedaling towards the front door. I don't really care what he thinks, neither of us can stay here. Me for my sanity, and Michael for his safety. Ashton blinks before shrugging, staring at us with wide eyes.

"Okay. Whatever you need to do, man." Ashton mumbles, watching me herd Michael out the front door and out into the open air. I grab his wrist as we head straight into the woods, but I see Michael wince, and I quickly lower my hand down to his. His fingers intertwine with mine, and I am too wrapped up in my thoughts to feel the shock of electricity flow through my arm.

"Where are we going, Luke?" Michael asks quietly beside me, hurrying to catch up with my long strides.

I stop and turn to look at him, at his big green eyes and his red lips.

"We're going to go to the cave." I answer, and the river's loud waves sound from the distance.

---

A/N I feel like nobody likes this story but I do so hey whatever

MERRY CHRISTMAS TO ALL YOU WONDERFUL BEAUTIFUL PEOPLE. IF YOU DON'T CELEBRATE CHIRSTMAS THEN HAPPY HOLDIDAYS AND I HOPE YOU HAVE AN AMAZING DAY!

please vote and comment ily guys so much ah