marked.

Millennia

Sam fell asleep swiftly and brutally on the couch. My mother had both stitched and bandaged Sam's left arm, and heavily dosed her with pain killers. Of course, that did the trick. It was about 11 o'clock when everything cooled down. Sean was still here, arms folded, leaning against the wall next to my balcony. My mother just stared blankly at the kitchen counter, staring at all her sanitized tools; the heated needle, the sturdy black thread, napkins drenched in alcohol, a bowl with the mixture of blood and water... Everything still there. There was an odd stillness in the room; both Sean and my mother looking exhausted beyond belief. I don't have the capability to empathize with that feeling.

It was as if my mom didn't care of Sean's presence in our household. It was if it didn't bother her that a male my age was still here at this very hour. She had been so deep in thought, it was as if she got lost in her mind. I felt as if I was Iceland. Stuck in between them all; Sam on the couch, America, Sean near the balcony, Canada; and to the far right, my mother, Europe. Iceland.

"So what happens now?" I ask. I didn't care which person answered, I just couldn't stand the agonizing silence.

Sean turned to look at me.

"How old is she?" My mother asks without any eye contact.

I glanced at her. "Sixteen."

"We need to contact her parents."

"She doesn't have any," I tell her.

"Guardian, then."

"He's a drunk."

"Child services."

"They will just send her to an orphanage, where there is a 100% chance she will runaway from it within the first six hours." I looked over and noticed my mother's hands balls into fists. My mom is quite the calm sort, but her frustration flutters ever so quickly.

"Then what happens, Daniella?! What happens! What do we do with her, now?" She screams and she slams her hand on the counter, making everything shake. Neither Sean or I even flinch at her reaction, and Sam continues to sleep soundly.

"Let her stay here," I tell her. "With us, until we figure what's going on and what happened." My mother gives me this look as if I'm insane. Maybe two months ago, I would be thinking the same thing; now... I'm not so sure. "I'm not leaving her in the streets again, and given what it's worth... She's the closest thing I have to a friend."

She just looks at me.

"Plus, this wouldn't be the first time we took a lone wolf in." There, strike one. I hit the mark. She stood silent.

After a millennia had past, she finally nodded. "This wouldn't be the first time."

I nodded. "This wouldn't be the first time."

***

After the agreement was finally put into place, Sean voluntarily left.

"I might be overstaying my welcome if I continue to be here," he concluded.

I nodded. "It's late anyway."

"I'll see you later," he whispered, nodding. I followed behind him and closed the door.

I end up laying on the floor next to the couch that night. I wasn't sure I wanted to leave Sam all alone, so I figured one night on the cool wooden floor won't hurt. I was left alone to the sound of Sam shuffling around in the cushions of the seat.

"You know I'm awake, don't you?" She asks.

"Yes."

Now she sits up straight. "Glad to know you know me so well." Once I sit up straight and cross my legs, I already see Parker poking at the wrap my mother so strategically put on her. I put my hand onto power of hers, and gently move it away. Sam looks at me for awhile, as if studying my face. The room was engulfed in pure darkness, but the moonlight gave off some of its milky light.

"Why did you help me?" She asks.

"What do you mean?"

"You could have just left me there, all busted up. But you," she takes a long moment to stare at me. "You didn't. Why?"

I over and sit crossed-legged on top the charcoal, wooden coffee table that stands about a foot away from the couch. It was my turn to observe. "Why wouldn't I help you?" I counter.

"Dani, no one helps me. So why you? Why did you take me in? Why did you help me?"

I let out a deep breath through my nose. "I would never, ever leave you out on the streets. I wouldn't dare go against my values and not help you."

She swallows hard. "So you helped me just so you wouldn't go against your 'values,' is that it?" I could feel the oncoming, unnecessary tension growing inside her. Before she explodes, I decided to stop the charade and tell her honestly.

"Back in New York... All my friends were labeled 'troubled.' They all had their issues and did a lot of stupid things in their lifetime. But sometimes, it wasn't them causing all the trouble."

"What do you mean? Why are you telling me this story?"

I took a low breath before I continued. "A great amount of issues happened to my friends. Eventually, some of them couldn't take the situation they were in so..." I took a moment, not realizing that I was squeezing my left fist incredibly. "They couldn't take it anymore.

They eventually lashed out, completely lost it. And when they really couldn't take it anymore, they would come to my apartment and live with me and my mom. Most them came to the house with bullet wounds, slashes, broken body body parts, or even just as simple as tears and one suitcase." I waited to see how Sam would react, and she only swiped her cheek with one finger.

"With that one suitcase, some of them lived with us for maybe what would seem as a day, then turns to be a week, and sometimes... Months.

You don't know this but, every time something like that would happen, I felt as if I was going through hell with them. I always cried with them, got angry... But I realized that all my friends came to me and my mom because we were healing them. They've been hurt in every single strategy possible, and they always came to us. And every time I see my friend going through that hell, I NEVER want them to go through it alone." By the end of the story, my throat stiffened. Drops of H2O flowed silently out of my eyes. "That's why I helped you, Samantha, that's why. I never want you to go through hell alone."

It was another millennia of long silence, but it was because the water works were working on the both of us. Sam was actually speechless. I guess you can say I never really show my emotions.

"No one knows that story," I tell her. "Not even Marco... Yet."

She straightened her posture. "Who's Marco?" I could practically feel the sly smile growing immensely on Sam's face. I chuckled loudly.

Such girls we are.