Between Tides - JJ Maybank

Chapter 1

TW: Domestic Abuse

Harper forgot how to scream.

A cry that should come from deep inside her, one that should reach down to her core, seems lost. Pain should lead her to healing, guiding her toward what mends and away from what harms, but it doesn't. Harper learned that pain, as hard as it is to bear, is part of the process of recovery. It teaches, even when it hurts. When someone cries out, it's supposed to summon the people who love them most. Harper never thought she'd find herself crying out for help from the person who was supposed to love her the most.
Bloody hands—they can belong to a killer, or a healer, a villain or a saviour Harper thinks about her own hands, wondering where the blood on them came from. But her father's hands—they're covered in more blood than anyone else's, more than hers ever will be. He told her he loved her, then slowly broke down her walls, exposing her vulnerabilities. Once he did, her defences crumbled, and she became easy to hurt.
She remembers the nights of violence—the shouting, her mother's voice rising, then falling into sobs as her father's rage filled the house. Harper, just a child, would hide under her blanket, holding a toy snake close to her chest, hoping the sounds would go away. She always thought that when her mother left, she would take her with her, that they'd escape together. But the day her mother walked out the door, Harper was left behind, alone with only her toys for comfort.
They say anger hides sadness, Harper always felt angry, at herself the world and for what her father did to her mother.
Now, every step Harper takes feels disconnected from her body. She moves stiffly, as if her limbs no longer belong to her, as if each step is a struggle. Pain is everywhere. She tries to leave, but before she can reach the door, he catches up to her. Her father wraps his arms around her legs. The weight of his touch, once comforting, now fills her with dread. She bends down to his level, her joints screaming in pain, looking into his eyes—eyes that once held love but now only hold fear.
His hands, the same hands that used to hold her gently, have become the hands that hurt. They terrify her now.
Her mind spins as memories flood back—of his control, his violence, and the years of manipulation. Her father is her greatest fear, the battle she must fight if she's ever going to be free. Her body is weak, and her mind feels shattered. She wants to fight, but she's exhausted. She knows he hates her. That hatred is the only thing keeping him alive. Without it, he'd be nothing.
Harper feels her breath growing shallow, her heart pounding uncontrollably. Panic grips her, but somewhere deep inside, she finds a sliver of strength. There's a vase on the table nearby. With what little energy she has left, she grabs it and swings it at him. The vase shatters against his head, glass flying in every direction. A shard slices into her cheek, but she barely notices the pain.
Blood pours from the gash in her stomach, soaking through her shirt, mixing with sweat and chaos. She can feel the life draining from her, but she can't stop. She stumbles out into the dark, empty street, screaming for help, but no one answers.
The door slams behind her. His footsteps thunder as he chases after her, his rage like nothing she's ever seen before. His face is twisted with anger beyond reason.
"Please, Dad, please!" Harper begs, her voice trembling, but her words fall on deaf ears. He has no compassion left for her. He pins her to the ground, and she can't fight back anymore. Her strength is gone. Each blow lands with brutal force, his voice a scream of hatred.
"You fucking spoilt brat"
Harper's body can't take much more, and all she can do is lie there, waiting for the beating to end.
"Stop, Stop." Harper says, almost a whisper. Her head whips back every time his fist reaches my face. She's forced to just lay there and take it.


Harper wakes to the sting of sunlight piercing through the curtains. The light is almost blinding, and for a moment, she's disoriented. The world feels detached, as though the horrors of the night before were part of a nightmare she hasn't fully escaped. Her body aches. Every part of her, from her swollen face to her bruised ribs, screams in protest as she tries to shift on the bed—or is it the floor? She can't tell. Her limbs feel heavy, her skin pulled tight over bones that are both sore and fragile.
The room smells of sweat, blood, and something stale—like the aftermath of chaos. She tries to push herself up, her arms trembling as they barely hold her weight. The pain is sharp, like shards of glass cutting into her every time she moves. Slowly, reality floods back. The blows. His voice. The darkness. The door slamming.
Her father.
She winces at the memory, each flash of the previous night coming back in jagged pieces. She looks down, seeing the dried blood caked on her hands and clothes. Her shirt is torn, and her face feels tight, swollen from the assault. Her fingers brush against her cheek, and she recoils at the sudden jolt of pain, realizing there's a deep cut. Blood crusts around it, her skin hot and raw beneath the dried layers. Her lip is split, her eyes bruised.
The house is eerily silent, like a calm after a storm, but Harper knows better. She glances around. The broken vase lies in shattered pieces on the floor, glistening in the morning light. The flowers are wilted, just like the strength that had once coursed through her.
There's a moment where her thoughts drift, wondering if maybe he's gone, if she's alone now. But a single creak from somewhere in the house snaps her back to reality, sending a wave of dread through her body. Is he still here? Did he fall asleep in his drunken rage? The thought makes her stomach turn.
She needs to leave. She needs to get out.
Her heart pounds in her chest, a thrum of panic that threatens to overwhelm her, but her body is barely able to respond. She tries to get to her feet, legs shaking beneath her as if they might give way any second. Each movement sends a sharp pain through her ribs and abdomen, the wound from last night reopening, blood seeping through her shirt again.



Harper staggers, her breath shallow, struggling to keep her balance. She looks down at the pool of darkened red on her shirt, the life that still seems to be slipping away. She presses her hand against her stomach to try and stop it, but it doesn't do much. She has to keep moving. Has to find help.
The room spins around her, her vision blurry. She sways, almost falling back onto the floor, but she catches herself against the wall. Her head pounds with a dull throb, and her hands—she can see them shaking—are cold, despite the blood and sweat sticking to her skin.
Outside. She has to get outside.
Harper stumbles toward the door, her breath coming in ragged gasps. The fear of him waking and coming after her again looms large in her mind, the same fear that's kept her trapped in this house for too long. But she's too weak to run, too fragile to even scream for help anymore.
The front door is in view now, but each step feels heavier than the last. She reaches for the handle, her fingers barely gripping it. For a second, she hesitates, the thought of him finding her gone, the idea of what he might do if he does, freezes her in place. But the need to survive pushes her forward.
She stumbles out onto the porch, the cool morning air hitting her face. The world outside is quiet, indifferent to her suffering. She looks down the empty street—no cars, no people. Just the endless stretch of road ahead of her, and the weight of what comes next pressing down on her chest.
She takes a breath, or at least tries to, her lungs tight and her body protesting against every movement. Her voice is barely a whisper, but she calls out anyway, hoping, praying, that someone, anyone, might hear her.
But all around her is silence.
Harper's fingers twitch instinctively toward her pants pocket, her body running on sheer survival mode despite the pain tearing through her every muscle. She knows she has to reach someone, anyone who can help. The world around her is blurred and distant, but the sensation of her phone pressing against her thigh brings a sliver of hope, a reminder that there's a way out of this, that she's not entirely alone.
With shaking hands, she fumbles to pull the phone out. The screen feels slick in her palm, her fingers struggling to find enough strength to hold it steady. Her vision swims as she unlocks it, wincing at the brightness of the screen. Each movement sends waves of sharp pain radiating from her ribs and stomach, but she forces herself to push through. She has to. There's no other choice.
Harper scrolls through her contacts, her mind foggy, struggling to focus on the names that pass by. Her breathing is ragged, shallow gasps, as if her lungs are trying to collapse under the weight of it all. So many names. Family, acquaintances, people she hasn't spoken to in years. None of them feel right. None of them could help her in this moment.
Then her thumb hovers over a familiar name: Neena. One of her best friends. A person who had been there for her through countless ups and downs, someone who always knew how to bring her back when she felt like the world was closing in. Neena would understand, would know what to do. But as Harper hesitates, a brief moment of doubt creeps in. What will Neena say? What if she can't help? What if she sees how broken Harper has become?
But there's no time for doubt. Harper presses Call, her breath hitching as the line begins to ring.
One ring.
Two rings.
Each second feels like an eternity. Harper's vision blurs again, and she blinks hard to stay focused. Her legs give way, and she sinks to the porch steps, phone still clutched tightly in her hand. The ringing feels louder, filling the silence around her, drowning out the pounding in her ears. She's not even sure she has the strength to speak when Neena picks up, but she needs her friend. Desperately.
Finally, the call connects. A familiar voice, laced with sleep and concern, filters through the phone.
"Harper? Is that you?" Neena's voice is groggy, but alarmed now, sensing something's wrong.
Harper swallows hard, trying to speak, but her throat is tight, and the words come out in barely a whisper. "Neena... I need... help."
There's a pause, and then Neena's voice shifts, the fog of sleep replaced with urgency. "Harper, what happened? Where are you?"
"I—I'm hurt. I don't... know what to do." Harper's voice cracks as tears well up again. The reality of the situation crashes down on her, and she feels the weight of it all, too much to bear alone.
"Stay with me, Harper. Just stay with me. Where are you?" Neena asks again, her voice steady, strong.
Harper looks around, the empty street stretching out in front of her. "I'm at... the house. I... I can't..."
"Don't move. I'm coming to get you. Right now. I'll be there as soon as I can," Neena says firmly, the sound of her moving around in the background clear through the phone. "Harper, stay on the line, okay? I'm not hanging up."
Harper nods, though she knows Neena can't see it. The tears fall freely now, mixing with the blood and sweat on her skin. Her friend's voice feels like a lifeline, anchoring her to the world, keeping her from slipping completely into the darkness.
Harper doesn't remember much of the journey to Neena's house. The minutes blend into a haze of pain and exhaustion, the world around her moving in a blur. Neena's steady voice remains on the line, grounding her as she sits slumped on the curb outside her house, clutching the phone with trembling hands. Every time Harper's vision starts to dim, Neena's voice pulls her back, reminding her to stay awake, to hold on just a little longer.
She can spot a familiar car in the distance, it screeches to a halt in front of her, and the door swings open. Neena rushes toward her, her face filled with panic and fear. She drops to her knees in front of Harper, carefully reaching out but stopping short, unsure of where it's safe to touch without causing more pain.
"Oh my god, Harper... what did he do to you?" Neena's voice cracks, eyes wide with horror as she takes in the blood and bruises covering her friend's body. She's shaking, but she fights to stay calm.
"I... I couldn't stop him," Harper whispers, her voice hoarse. "I had to run."
Neena's jaw clenches, fury flashing across her face as she stands up and helps Harper to her feet. "You're safe now. We're getting out of here." She guides Harper toward the passenger seat, careful not to jostle her too much, then slams the door before rushing to the driver's side. Neena pulls away from the curb, driving with one hand while keeping the other resting on Harper's knee, a silent reassurance.
The drive to Neena's house is quiet, save for the sound of the tires on the wet road. Harper leans her head against the window, feeling the cold glass against her cheek, grounding her in the present. Her mind races, replaying the events of the night over and over, but she tries to focus on Neena's steady breathing beside her. The pain still throbs through her body, but somehow, with Neena close, it feels more bearable.
After what feels like an eternity, they pull up to Neena's house—an old, weathered two-story place perched near the Cut, not unlike Harper's own home. The porch light flickers as they approach, casting long shadows over the front yard. Harper stumbles out of the car, Neena right there to catch her before she falls, and together they make their way inside.
Neena's house smells like lavender and old books, a comforting contrast to the chaos of the night. The familiar creak of the floorboards under their feet gives Harper a brief sense of relief, as if she's stepping into a sanctuary. The living room is dimly lit, with soft, threadbare furniture that Harper has spent countless afternoons lounging on during better days. Now, it feels like a safe haven—a place where the horrors of the night can't reach her.
Neena helps her onto the couch, carefully laying a blanket over her. "I'm gonna get the first aid kit," she says, disappearing down the hallway for a moment. Harper lies there, staring at the ceiling, her body aching with every breath. Her mind spins, trying to process the enormity of everything that just happened. She's safe now, but the fear hasn't left her. It clings to her, settling deep in her chest.
Neena returns, kneeling next to the couch with a damp cloth and a small kit of bandages and antiseptics. "This might sting," she warns, dabbing gently at the cuts on Harper's face and arms. Her touch is careful but firm, the sting of the antiseptic a sharp reminder of reality.
As Neena works, the silence between them is thick with unspoken words. Harper's throat tightens as she tries to hold back the tears that have been threatening to spill since the moment she left the house. She swallows hard, staring at Neena's hands as they move over her skin, methodical and gentle.
"I'm so sorry, Harp," Neena whispers after a long moment. Her voice wavers, and Harper can hear the guilt beneath the words. "I should've been there sooner."
Harper shakes her head, wincing at the movement. "It's not your fault." Her voice is raw, barely above a whisper.
Neena pauses, meeting Harper's eyes, and for the first time that night, Harper sees tears brimming in her friend's eyes. Neena quickly wipes them away, focusing back on bandaging the deeper cuts on Harper's arm. "You're staying here tonight. No arguments."
Harper nods, the weight of exhaustion pulling her eyelids down. The room feels safe, warm, and quiet in a way her own home hasn't in years. She wants to say something more, to express the whirlwind of emotions churning inside her, but the words won't come. Instead, she reaches out and squeezes Neena's hand in silent gratitude.
"Thank you," Harper whispers, her voice cracking.
Neena gives a small, sad smile. "I'm always here for you. We'll figure this out. Together."
Harper lets her head sink into the cushions, her body giving in to the overwhelming fatigue. Neena stays by her side, watching over her as her breathing slows, the pain finally dulling enough for her to drift into a restless sleep. The night has been long, but at least for now, she's safe in Neena's care.

Neena sits on the floor next to Harper, her legs crossed, eyes heavy with worry as she watches her friend finally fall into an uneasy sleep. Harper's face, bruised and swollen, twitches occasionally as if she's fighting off nightmares, but for now, the immediate terror is over.
Neena pulls out her phone with trembling fingers and scrolls through her contacts until she lands on Ruby's name. Ruby, the third in their trio, always the calm and steady one in a crisis, needs to know. Neena presses the call button and listens to the soft ringing on the other end.
It only takes a few rings before Ruby picks up, her voice thick with sleep. "Neena? What's wrong?" She knows something's off immediately, her tone sharpening with concern.
"It's Harper," Neena says, her voice cracking, barely holding it together. "She's at my place. He—he hurt her, Ruby. Bad."
There's a moment of stunned silence on the other end, and Neena can hear the rustling of blankets as Ruby quickly gets out of bed. "Oh my god," Ruby breathes, now fully awake. "I'm coming over right now. Stay with her, okay? I'll be there in ten."
Neena hangs up, her heart pounding in her chest. She glances at Harper, who stirs slightly but doesn't wake. The sight of her battered face makes the panic rise again, but Neena forces herself to stay calm. Ruby will know what to do. She always does.
Ten minutes feel like an eternity, but eventually, there's a soft knock on the door. Neena rushes over, pulling it open to reveal Ruby standing in the doorway, her face pale and tense, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder. She steps inside without a word, her eyes scanning the room until they land on Harper lying on the couch.
Ruby's breath hitches at the sight of her. She drops her bag by the door and walks over, her movements slow and careful, as if approaching a wounded animal. "Oh, Harp..." she whispers, her voice thick with emotion. She kneels down beside her, brushing a strand of hair from Harper's bruised face, her hand trembling. "What did he do to you?"
Neena stands back, biting her lip, feeling a mix of relief and helplessness. "She barely made it out, Ruby. I don't know what would've happened if she hadn't called me."
Ruby nods, her eyes never leaving Harper. "We're not letting her go back there. Ever."
Neena feels a surge of gratitude for Ruby's strength, for the way she always knows exactly what to say, even in the worst moments. Ruby pulls out her phone, taking quick photos of Harper's injuries—documenting everything, in case they need proof later. It's something Neena didn't even think of in the chaos.
"We need to get her checked out," Ruby says, her voice firm but soft. "A hospital, or at least a clinic. Those bruises could be worse than they look, and she might have internal injuries."
Neena nods, running a hand through her hair. "I didn't want to take her out there in case he came looking."
Ruby stands up, slipping her phone back into her pocket. "I'll stay with her. You need a break, Neena. Go wash your face, grab some water. I've got this."
Neena hesitates but then relents, feeling the exhaustion settling into her bones. "Okay... I'll be right back."
As Neena disappears into the bathroom, Ruby settles herself beside Harper, her hand resting gently on her friend's arm. "You're going to be okay," she whispers, more to herself than Harper. "We'll figure this out."
For a moment, the room is silent except for the sound of Harper's breathing and the distant hum of the fridge. Ruby sits there, guarding Harper as if she can somehow shield her from the pain of what's happened, the trauma that's only beginning to surface.
When Neena returns, her face freshly washed but still pale with worry, she takes a seat on the armrest of the couch, glancing between Harper and Ruby. "What are we going to do, Ruby? How do we fix this?"
Ruby sighs, leaning back against the couch, her eyes heavy with the weight of the situation. "First, we take care of Harper. Then, we figure out how to make sure she never has to see him again."
They sit together in the quiet, Harper's soft breaths the only sound filling the room. As the first light of dawn starts creeping through the windows, the two friends make a silent vow to protect her, no matter what.


Morning light filters through the curtains, casting a warm glow over the small living room. Harper stirs on the couch, the sound of soft whispers pulling her from the depths of sleep. As her eyes flutter open, she sees the familiar figures of Neena and Ruby, both sitting close by, concern etched across their faces.
The events of the previous night come flooding back—vivid flashes of anger, pain, and fear. It feels like a nightmare she can't escape, and as the memories sharpen, so does the ache in her chest.
Neena leans closer, her voice gentle, "Hey, Harp, it's okay. You're safe. We're here."
Ruby, sitting on the other side, gives her a reassuring nod. "You're not alone, Harper. We've got you."
But Harper can't find the strength to respond. Instead, she sits up slowly, a wave of emotion crashing over her. The walls she had built up begin to crumble as the realization of her friends' presence sinks in. She covers her face with trembling hands, and the tears start to flow—first a few quiet sobs, then a torrent of grief.
"I'm so sorry," she cries, her voice muffled by her palms. "I'm so sorry for everything."
Neena instantly shifts closer, wrapping an arm around Harper's shoulders, while Ruby gently takes her hand, squeezing it tightly. "You don't have to apologize for anything," Neena assures her, her voice steady but soft. "You didn't do anything wrong. You're not to blame for what happened."
But Harper can't help it. The weight of the night presses heavily on her, each tear a release of the pain and helplessness she felt. "It hurts so much," she gasps, her body shaking with the force of her cries. "I thought I could handle it. I thought it would be okay."
Ruby's grip tightens as she moves in closer, her heart breaking for her friend. "You're strong, Harper. Stronger than you know. But it's okay to break down. We're here to catch you."
As Harper leans into Neena's comforting embrace, the warmth of her friend's presence provides a small measure of solace. "I just want it to stop. I want to forget," Harper whispers through her tears.
Neena wipes away a tear with her thumb, her eyes glistening with empathy. "We'll help you heal. We'll get through this together, I promise. You don't have to face it alone."
Slowly, Harper's sobs begin to subside, but the tears continue to fall. She feels the love and support of her friends enveloping her like a safety net, and for the first time since the ordeal, she begins to feel a flicker of hope.
Ruby brushes a stray hair from Harper's forehead, her voice filled with unwavering resolve. "We're going to take it one step at a time. You can lean on us, no matter what. We won't let you go back there."
As Harper begins to calm down, Neena and Ruby exchange worried glances. The concern in their eyes deepens as they consider the state she's in.
"Harper," Neena starts gently, "we really think you should see a doctor. Just to make sure you're okay. I mean, you need to get checked out."
Harper shakes her head vehemently, fresh tears pooling in her eyes. "No! I can't. They'll ask questions, and I... I can't. I don't want to talk about what happened." The panic in her voice spikes as she envisions being prodded for details she's not ready to share.
Ruby leans closer, her tone soothing. "I get it, but what if you need help? What if there's something wrong? You can't just ignore it."
"I know, but I can't. Please," Harper pleads, desperation creeping into her words. "What if they call the cops? What if he finds out?"
Neena rubs Harper's back, trying to soothe her. "Okay, okay. We don't have to go to a hospital. But we can't just leave it. What if there's a better option?"
Ruby's eyes light up suddenly as an idea strikes her. "What about Mrs. Heyward?"
Harper furrows her brow, not immediately understanding. "Mrs. Heyward? You mean the lady from the Cut? She's not even a licensed doctor."
"I know," Ruby replies, her voice filled with urgency. "But she knows everyone's business around here. And she's helped people in the past. She can take a look at you without all the... formalities."
"But what if she tells someone?" Harper feels her heart race again, the fear of being exposed creeping back in.
"Mrs. Heyward keeps things quiet," Neena assures her. "She knows how to handle situations like this. And she's helped us before—remember when we got those stupid infections from that creek we swam in last summer? She didn't say a word to anyone."
Harper bites her lip, considering the option. Part of her recoils at the idea, but another part—one that longs for relief and healing—wants to trust her friends. "I don't know... I just hate this. I hate all of it," she whispers, her voice barely audible.
Ruby reaches for Harper's hand, squeezing it tightly. "We just want to help you, Harp. You don't have to face this alone. We can take you to her, and if you don't like it, we'll leave. But please let us help."
After a long pause, Harper finally nods, feeling the weight of her friends' concern pressing upon her like a gentle tide. "Okay. If you think it'll help."
"Trust us," Neena encourages, her voice soft but resolute. "We'll figure this out together."
With a shaky breath, Harper wipes the remnants of her tears away, a flicker of hope igniting in her chest. Living on the Cut has always meant looking out for one another, and now, with her friends by her side, she takes the first tentative step toward healing. Maybe, just maybe, there's a way to face this without the overwhelming fear of being judged or questioned.

Harper struggles to pull on a hoodie, wincing as the fabric brushes against her bruises. Every movement feels like a punishment, and she fights back tears, reminding herself that this is for her own good. "Are you sure about this?" she asks, her voice trembling.
"Yeah, we'll be right there with you," Ruby reassures her, her eyes bright with determination. "We're not leaving your side."
Neena nods, squeezing Harper's shoulder gently. "We can do this together. Just take deep breaths."
As they step out into the crisp air of the Cut, Harper feels the chill seep into her bones, amplifying her discomfort. The streets are eerily quiet, the usual sounds of neighbors chatting or children playing absent. It feels like the world is holding its breath, waiting for her next move.
The three of them walk slowly, Harper's feet dragging as pain radiates through her body with each step. She can feel the heat of the bruises on her skin and the dull ache of her injuries throbbing in time with her heartbeat. It's a long walk to Mrs. Heyward's house, and every moment feels like an eternity.
Neena glances back at Harper, her expression filled with sympathy. "Just a little further, okay? We're almost there."
Harper tries to nod, but the movement sends a wave of dizziness crashing over her. She grips Ruby's arm tightly, the coolness of her friend's skin grounding her amidst the pain. "I don't think I can do this," she whispers, her voice shaky.
"Yes, you can," Ruby insists, her voice steady. "Just focus on breathing. In and out. We're here."
Harper closes her eyes for a moment, trying to block out the world. She takes a deep breath, feeling the air fill her lungs, and then releases it slowly, the effort calming her racing heart. But as they continue down the street, the reality of her injuries looms large, making every step feel like an uphill battle.
Finally, they arrive at Mrs. Heyward's modest house, the paint chipped and faded, yet it feels like a sanctuary. Neena knocks on the door, and Harper leans heavily against the porch railing, the pain in her body almost overwhelming.
After a moment, Mrs. Heyward opens the door, her warm, weathered face breaking into a smile. "Girls! What brings you here?" But her smile falters as she takes in Harper's condition, the bruises peeking out from under her hoodie. "Oh, dear. What happened?"
"Can we come in?" Neena urges, her voice urgent.
Mrs. Heyward steps aside, allowing them to enter. "Of course! Come in, come in! Let's get you settled."
As Harper steps inside, the smell of herbs and something sweet fills the air, comforting yet overwhelming. She takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself, but the pain crashes over her again, forcing her to lean against the wall for support.
"Harper," Ruby says gently, "you can sit down if you need to."
Harper nods, grateful as she sinks into a chair, her body trembling with exhaustion. Mrs. Heyward moves quickly, her movements efficient as she prepares a space for examination. "What's going on, sweetheart?" she asks, her tone softening.
Harper swallows hard, the words getting stuck in her throat. She looks at her friends, who nod encouragingly, then whispers, "I need help. I was... attacked."
Mrs. Heyward's expression hardens with concern. "Okay, we'll take care of you. Let's see what we're dealing with." She kneels beside Harper, her hands gentle but firm as she assesses the damage.
With every touch, Harper gasps, the pain shooting through her like fire. "I'm sorry, dear. I need to know where it hurts the most," Mrs. Heyward murmurs, her eyes filled with kindness.
Harper bites her lip, forcing herself to breathe through the agony. "My side... and my head," she manages, the confession tearing from her as she feels the weight of her fear and pain finally being acknowledged.
"Alright, let's take a look," Mrs. Heyward says, her voice steady and reassuring. As she carefully examines Harper, the warmth of her presence begins to ease the tension in Harper's chest, allowing her to relax just a little.
As Mrs. Heyward continues her examination, Harper tries to focus on the warmth of her friends surrounding her. Neena kneels by her side, holding her hand, while Ruby stands close, her eyes darting between Harper and Mrs. Heyward. The tension in the room is palpable, a silent understanding passing between them all.
Just then, the front door swings open, and laughter spills into the room, bright and loud. Harper's heart sinks as she recognizes the familiar voices of Pope Heyward and JJ Maybank, both boys from school. They burst in, their carefree energy instantly filling the space, and Harper feels a surge of embarrassment wash over her.
"Did you hear about Mrs Mitchell and Mr Castles?" Pope laughs, his voice echoing off the walls. JJ leans against the doorframe, a wide grin on his face, but as their eyes land on Harper, the laughter dies in their throats. They take in the scene: Harper, bruised and shaken, surrounded by worried friends.
His voice falters as he steps forward, but Mrs. Heyward quickly intervenes.
"Boys!" she calls sharply, her tone cutting through the air. "Get out!"
The boys freeze, their expressions shifting from amusement to confusion, their eyes darting to Mrs. Heyward, then back to Harper. They exchange glances, sensing the tension in the room, their smiles fading as concern replaces their laughter.
"Leave," Mrs. Heyward commands, her voice firm. "This is not the time."
Pope and JJ nod slowly, realizing their presence is unwelcome. They linger for a moment, eyes lingering on Harper, concern etched on their faces. They seem to want to say something, but the words don't come.
Without a word, they turn and walk out, the door clicking shut behind them. The sudden silence that follows is heavy, the weight of unspoken worry hanging in the air. Harper can feel their looks—questions unasked, concern left unvoiced—and it deepens her sense of isolation.
"Harper, we're here for you," Neena whispers, squeezing her hand tighter. Ruby stands close, her expression a mixture of anger at the situation and worry for her friend.
Mrs. Heyward resumes her work, casting a reassuring glance at Harper. "Let's focus on you now. You're safe here."
After the door closes behind Pope and JJ, the air in the room feels denser, the atmosphere heavy with concern. Mrs. Heyward finishes cleaning the cuts on Harper's arms, her hands steady but her expression serious.
"Alright, Harper," she says gently, her voice firm yet warm. "I'm going to be honest with you about what I see."
Harper nods, her heart racing, as she braces for the verdict. Mrs. Heyward takes a deep breath, her gaze steady as she examines Harper's bruised face and body.
"You have some deep bruising and several lacerations," she continues. "Some of these cuts need stitches. They're not superficial. I'm worried about infection, given the state of your wounds."
Harper's stomach drops at the mention of stitches. The thought sends a wave of dread coursing through her, and she instinctively pulls away, glancing at Neena and Ruby, whose eyes mirror her anxiety.
"Mrs. Heyward, I—" Harper begins, her voice trembling. She struggles to find the words, the fear of being asked how this happened creeping back in. "I don't want to go to a hospital. They'll ask questions..."
Mrs. Heyward's expression softens, understanding flooding her eyes. "I know you're scared, and I'm not here to force you into anything. But if you don't let me help you properly, you could end up in a much worse situation. This isn't just about the pain; it's about keeping you safe."
Ruby steps closer, her hand resting on Harper's shoulder. "You need to let her help you, Harp. We can figure everything else out later."
Harper's heart races, torn between the need for help and the fear of exposure. She closes her eyes, breathing deeply, but it's Neena's voice that breaks through her turmoil.
"What if we just let Mrs. Heyward take care of you here?" Neena suggests, her tone calm and steady. "You said she's known for helping people. She can do it without having to go to the hospital."
Mrs. Heyward nods in agreement. "I can treat you here, Harper. I'm not a licensed doctor, but I know what I'm doing, and I've helped a lot of kids in our community. I just need you to trust me."
Harper's breath hitches as she considers their words, weighing her fear against the reality of her injuries. "What if..." she starts hesitantly, "what if I let you help me, but I don't want anyone to know how I got hurt?"
Mrs. Heyward leans closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. "Your secret is safe with me, Harper. You're not alone in this. We'll figure it out together."
With a shaky breath, Harper nods, a mix of relief and apprehension flooding through her. "Okay," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "I'll let you help me."
Mrs. Heyward's expression softens further, and she begins gathering her supplies with purpose. "Good choice, Harper. Let's get you taken care of."
As she works, Harper feels the warmth of her friends surrounding her, their silent support giving her the strength to face whatever comes next.