Hawkins, Indiana. That's where you live. You have been living there for a few weeks. The neighborhood where you live is fairly quiet. Occasionally you hear some screaming children, but that's all.
The Hargrove family lives next to you. Although, the family is a blended family. Four weeks ago your mother brought them a cake. Just to welcome the family to the neighborhood.
You look at the house from your window. It is less beautiful than yours. You stare at the house. And then suddenly the front door opens. A muscular boy with long blond curly hair walks in the direction of the blue Camaro, which is parked on the grass in front of the house.
You see how he lights a cigarette. You keep staring. And then suddenly he turns his head. Even at this great distance, his eyes meet yours. You look away quickly, but that is really a stupid action. Of course he has already seen you.
As you hide in your room, hoping that there is no longer a possibility that he sees you, you hear how the car's hard engine turns on. Then the boy drives out of the street.
That evening you hear the engine again. You look carefully out your window. There he is again. The muscular blond boy. Another cigarette is hanging from his mouth. He walks to the door of the house.
You walk towards your bed and decide to focus on your math homework again. When you have just spent five minutes doing the difficult maths, you see something striking from the corner of your eye.
You stand in front of your window. The curtains of the window opposite yours are closed. Yet you can still see through it. You see the shadows of two people. You are shocked by what you see. The larger shadow appears to give multiple hits to the smaller shadow. And by looking at the hair of the smaller shadow, you can see it is the muscular, blond boy.
After a while it seems to be quiet in the house across the street. You no longer see the shadows. You are very shocked and would like to help the boy. But you are scared. Afraid of the bigger shadow. Is that his father?
Then the curtain opens. The boy opens the curtain and does not realize that you are staring at him from the other side. There is blood on his face and he has a black eye.
Then he looks up and for the second time this day your eyes meet. Now that you look him in the eye, you realize that his wounds are worse than you expected. Then you open your window.
The boy does the same and climbs out of his window. You can tell from his movements that it hurts him a lot. He carefully walks to your window. You reach out to him. He puts his hand in yours. It feels different than you expected; it feels soft. You help him climb into your room.
Without saying a word you accompany him to your bed. He moans in pain while he sits down gently on your bed. You sit on your desk chair. It remains silent for a long time.
"Hi ..." you say softly.
"Hey," the boy mumbles.
"Are you okay?" You ask.
The boy nods, but you see the tears leap into his eyes.
You get up and decide to sit next to the boy. His hand is on his lap. You gently grasp his hand. He looks up and then looks at you. "I'm Billy, by the way ..." he whispers. A small smile appears on your face. "I am [y / n]"
You get up and walk to the living room. Your parents are not at home, so you have the whole house to yourself. You walk to the closet to look for the first aid kit. Those wounds don't look good.
When you have found the first aid kit, you run to your bedroom. Billy is still on your bed. You sit opposite him and you gently take his arm. There are large scrapes on it. First you disinfect the wounds and then you put some bandage around it.
"That stings ..." Billy moans.
"Sorry ..." you reply.
You also carefully disinfect the wounds on his face. You can tell from Billy's face that it hurts.
It is quiet again.
"What happened?" You ask.
"My father," he replies curtly.
"Did he do this to you?" You ask, even though you already know the answer.
Billy nods.
''Why?''
"I have no idea," Billy replies.
Then you see a tear roll down his cheek. "I'm sorry," he sniffs, wiping the tear away with his thumb.
"What for?" You ask.
"Being weak ..." he says, wiping another tear.
"Weak?"
He nods a little.
"You are not weak at all. You are really strong.'' You say, while your hand grasps his.
You don't even know the boy, but you felt you had to do that. You had the feeling that you had to take his hand. That you had to squeeze it gently. And that you had to rub it with your thumb. Just to reassure him. Just to let him know that he is not alone. Just to make it clear to him that you are there for him.
''You are not alone. Never. I'm always here. Come whenever you want. I'll be there ... " you whisper, your thumb gently rubbing his hand.
Then Billy bursts into tears. You open your arms. He puts his head on your shoulder. You hear him sob softly. You can also feel that he makes your shoulder a little wet with his tears.
"Thank you ..." he whispers.
"Thank you for being there. Thank you for taking care of me. That is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me ... " he whispers in your ear.
