A Thousand Tiny Wishes // Ed Sheeran

Chapter Four - At Your Window

Ed's POV:

I wished I could take it back. I wished I could turn away from her window and run as far away as I could, but I needed her too much. I wished I could erase the look on her face when she saw mine after sneaking me into her house. She ran her hand gently over my swelling cheek, and as careful as she was, I still flinched when she grazed the bruise with the pads of her warm fingers.

She hugged me tighter than I'd ever been hugged, neither of us saying a word when she led me to her room by the hand, quietly shutting the door.

We sat against her bed, me at the foot and her beside me, both of us sat cross-legged. I picked at the loose skin on my fingers while her hand rested warmly over my knee.

"I never knew how to tell you," I whispered, staring down into my lap.

Before she had the chance to say anything at all, I began to tell her the very things I never knew how to say. I kept my eyes fixed on my lap while I told her the person responsible for marking my skin was my own father. I told her how night after night for as long as I can remember, I'd watch him drown himself in alcohol and take his anger out on me if I so much as breathed too loudly. I glanced up at Madison, seeing tears staining her cheeks, the soft glow from her beside lamp making them glisten.

"I'm so sorry," her voice cracked when she whispered, wiping her eyes and sniffling back tears.

I lightly shrugged my shoulders, trying to make it seem as if I weren't as bothered as I should be by the way things were.

"You don't have to be sorry," I said, "it's my own fault."

She turned then, her hand finding my chin and lifting my gaze toward hers, shaking her head lightly.

"Ed," she started, lowering her hand when I brought my eyes down to her mouth, "you can't blame yourself. It's not your fault."

As heartfelt as her words were, I didn't believe them. For so many years I was made to believe that each and every time my father turned my pale skin purple it was justified, or when he shouted that I wouldn't amount to anything it was true. When it's drilled into you for so long, it takes more than just one person saying otherwise for you to believe it.

"Yeah, well," I sighed, "we both know I'm not the most obedient."

She sat quiet then, her warm palm massaging my bicep, the gesture alone making me feel as if she truly cared. Suddenly, I felt safe seeing how a simple gesture could mean so much more than words. Funny how one pair of hands can cause so much pain, while another can do the complete opposite. I glanced down and smiled.

"I don't want you to worry about me, Mad," I said, gently running my hand over her knee in a neat circle, trying to reassure her that I was okay even if I really wasn't.

"I can't understand how anyone could hurt you," she said.

She fired off questions then, which I couldn't blame her for asking. She mainly wondered how my mother could allow such things to happen, but I assured her that she was hardly ever there to witness any of it. She couldn't understand why I wouldn't come clean to her sooner or ask for help, and the only explanation I had for her was that I didn't want or need her or anyone else's help. When she looked at me with such pain in her eyes, saying that she would trade places with me if she could, my stomach dropped to my feet.

"You don't mean that," I told her, "I don't know what I would do if anyone ever hurt you."

"I just feel like I should've known."

I shrugged, shaking my head, "even if you did, you couldn't have stopped him."

She lowered her eyes, fiddling with her fingers. Though we hadn't known each other long, I felt a connection to her that I hadn't felt with other people. She listened when I spoke and showed an interest in my feelings, she offered me a shoulder no matter how many times I refused it. She believed in me when it felt like no one else did.