It started that summer

The Brave Little Boy

I jolted awake, the remnants of my nightmare clinging to me, like a magnet. The darkness of my room felt stifling, each shadow whispering my fears. I took a deep breath, trying to shake off the echoes of what had haunted me. I couldn't let this feeling consume me again. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and stood up, my feet cold against the floor, the bottoms of my pajama pants dragged past the doorway. The silence in the manor felt heavy, like a thick blanket pressing down on me. I wandered down the hallway, my heart pounding. Where am I even going? I . . . I do not know. I would just prefer to be accompanied by someone.

As I neared Jason's room, I hesitated outside the door, the shadows playing tricks on my mind. Pushing the door open softly, I found him sitting up in bed. The bandages and bruises stood out starkly against his pale skin, a painful reminder of everything that had happened. The sight of his injuries sent a pang of worry through me. "Hey, Kiddo," he murmured, his voice low and warm. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I lied, trying to sound casual. "Just couldn't sleep."

"Really?" He raised an eyebrow, turning slightly to face me.

I scoffed, my defenses still up. "I'm fine," I insisted, though my gaze dropped to the floor.

"From one liar to another, you gotta work on being more believable, kid," he teased, his tone softening.

His playful jab broke through my wall a little, but I still couldn't bring myself to admit how I felt. "I just... I don't want to talk about it," I muttered.

"Okay," he replied, his understanding clear. "But you know you can talk to me, right? It's nothing you need to hide. I've been there—too many times to count, trust me."

I glanced back at him, vulnerability flickering in his words. "It's just... hard sometimes," I admitted, the confession slipping out before I could stop it.

"I get that," Jason said, his expression shifting from playful to serious. "It's okay to feel scared."

Silence hung between us, thick with unspoken fears. "I hate feeling trapped," I finally said. "What if I can't escape it?"

"Then you lean on me," he replied, his voice steady. "It's not a weakness to accept help when you need it. If there's one thing I've learned, it's that healing isn't meant to be done alone. You'll find your strength through us—through family."

Just as he spoke, I noticed him wince. "Are you okay?" I asked, concern flooding me.

"Y-Yeah, I just need to get my pain meds," he said, determination etched on his face. He started to push himself up, but I could see the strain.

"Hami, wait—" I warned, but it was too late. He stood and immediately stumbled, gasping as pain shot through him. My heart raced as I rushed forward, catching him before he fell.

"F-Fuc—" he gasped, his body leaning heavily against mine.

"Just hold onto me!" I urged, panic rising as I felt the weight of his injuries pressing down. It felt like carrying a mountain, but I couldn't let him fall. With every ounce of strength, I helped him steady himself, though the pain on his face made my chest tighten. "You're hurt," I said, trying to hold him upright.

"I-I've got it—ACK!" He bit his lip, grabbing his chest.

"Do not be stupid! Just sit down!" I insisted, worry clawing at me. "Let me help." He looked at me, winded, and finally nodded. We shuffled back toward the bed, his weight leaning heavily against me. I could feel him trembling, fighting against the pain. "I've got you," I wasn't sure if I was trying to convince him or myself.

We finally reached the edge of the bed, and he sank down with a wince. I stayed close, ready to support him if he needed it. "D-Damn," he muttered, breathing heavily. "Thanks."