Page 32 of Cross the Line
He slid down until he was sitting on the floor. Knees pulled to his chest. I mirrored his position to give him space.
"He hit her again." The confession came after a long silence. Barely a whisper over the rain. "Worse than before. I tried to stop him, and he..." His hand drifted to his ribs. An unconscious gesture that spoke volumes.
"He hurt you too."
A nod. Gaze fixed on the floor. "I thought if I disappeared, maybe no one would be disappointed anymore. He wouldn't have excuses to hit her."
The words hit me like a physical blow.
"I know something about disappointing people."
He finally met my eyes. Really seeing me for the first time. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." My head fell back against the concrete. "Messed up big time at my last assignment. That's why I'm here at 51 now. People got hurt because of me."
"What did you do?"
"Trusted the wrong person. Said the wrong thing at the wrong time." The familiar weight of guilt settled on my shoulders. "And afterward, I thought maybe everyone would be better off if I just... wasn't around anymore."
"Did it work?" Desperate hope flickered across his face.
A laugh escaped me. Without humor. "No. Running away doesn't fix anything. It just changes the shape of the problem."
Worry creased his young brow. The pack clutched tighter against his chest.
"What about my mom?" The crack in his voice was barely perceptible. "If I go back with you, what happens to her?"
I leaned forward. Chose my words carefully. "Your mom was brave enough to file a report. That means we can help both of you."
"You don't understand." A shake of his head. "Once you leave, he'll just get angrier. He always does when people start asking questions."
Rain drummed against the metal roof. Filling the silence between us. In the dim light, faded bruises showed on his wrists. Evidence of what he'd been trying to escape.
"He told her once that if she ever tried to leave, he'd find us. She doesn't have money for us to go somewhere else. We don't have family here. There's nowhere to go." The words came out hushed. Heavy.
The desperation in his voice hit me harder than I expected. This wasn't just teen rebellion. This was calculated survival.
"What if there was somewhere safe? Not home, but not the streets either."
Hope and suspicion warred across his face. "Like where?"
"There are shelters. Places where you and your mom could stay while we sort this out. Where he couldn't find you."
"She'd never leave." The statement was flat. Final. "She's too scared."
I studied him for a moment. "But you left. That took courage."
"I left because I thought it would help. But I've just been sitting up here, worried sick about her. What if he hurt her worse because I wasn't there?" Guilt weighed down every syllable.
The responsibility he felt for others' safety was painfully familiar. Written all over his hunched shoulders and hollow stare.
"What happened isn't your fault. Not your mom getting hurt, not you having to run. None of it."
His fingers dug into the worn fabric of his pack. Knuckles going white.
"Then whose is it?" The crack deepened. "I couldn't stop him. I couldn't protect her. And now I'm hiding on a roof while she's still there with him."
The rain intensified. A chaotic rhythm that matched the tension in the small space. Water dripped through a leak in the corner, forming a small puddle on the concrete floor.
