Come In

"Give me your hand first." He extended his own forward, waiting.

"I can do it myself," I said, reaching out for the supplies he'd lined up. I hesitated for a second because I didn't even know what to pick up first.

He blocked my hand with his, gently wrapping his fingers around my wrist and tugging it forward.

"I know," he said, pulling my hand closer to him so he could see the wound clearly. "But I'm already doing it."

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They were barely acquaintances but she showed up bleeding on his doorstep on a summer night before senior year. She came with an excuse to borrow bandages, and he pretended to believe her. What happened in his living room for the next hour entailed awkward conversations and unexpected hugs, but by the end, she knows that the safest place to be isn't necessarily the one you know the best.

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Content Warnings: Implied child abuse and emotional abuse, blood and minor injuries, themes of trauma and comfort.