The Boy with the Whiplash Tattoo

Twelve

Aaron stirred beside me. My breath hitched in my throat as another sob wracked my body, and I covered my mouth with a hand to stifle it. I didn't want him to hear me. I didn't want him to see exactly how weak I was, and how I was barely holding myself together.

He turned and before I could react his arms were around me. I stiffened, every nerve tingling, sending messages of fear and panic to my brain.
And yet he didn't release me, just hels me against his chest until my breathing steadied.

"It's ok Camilla," he whispered, and the sound of my name on his lips sent shivers down my spine. My entire being was so conflicted.

"I promise no one will hurt you again."
I believed him more with each inhale.

"They don't believe me," I tell him, looking into his dark eyes.
He puts a hand on my shoulder, and I shrug it off, not ready yet to feel the touch of another human being.
"I do," he says, without even flinching, without even caring that I had hurt his feelings.
I want to bury my face in his t-shirt but I am still too afraid.
"Thank you Aaron," I whisper without meeting his eye.
"It's ok Camilla, you know I'll always be here for you,"

We were only friends back then, more like siblings than future husband and wife. It warmed me, to remember how he'd always looked out for me.

"Thank you," I said so softly I'm not sure he heard. But he pressed his lips to the back of my head and murmured
"An honour."

I wonder if maybe this means we're going to be all right after all.