Age 11
This is the moment– I can feel it.
It’s the moment everything changes, and I’m helpless to stop it. I know I will forever remember this day whenever I lay eyes on him. My whole world stops turning, as my heart shrinks inside my chest.
He walks through the school gates just like he does any other day; his backpack slung over his shoulder and a look on his face that simply says, ‘I don’t care.’
It’s not that Zander is unapproachable– even if he wasn’t my best friend, I wouldn’t feel uncomfortable striking up a conversation with him. Zander just doesn’t care for people’s opinions of him. He never concerns himself with others’ thoughts, not about how he behaves, who he spends his time with, or how he presents himself– even now, with one eye swollen shut and dark with bruising.
He strides over, confident as always, and stops directly in front of me.
I can’t speak.
I can’t take my eyes off his face.
All I can do is stand here, searching his battered complexion for answers. The dark, crescent-shaped bruise cradling his eye is like a portal into the past. The colour transports me back to when we were ten years old. It’s the same shade as the midnight sky we once looked up to. It was the first time we had dared to stay up past our bedtime, and we spent what felt like hours trying to count the stars that sparkled against the endless stretch of indigo. But there were no stars lighting up Zander’s eyes now– just bottomless pits of muddy brown.
“Jules?” He looked at me as if I was the one behaving abnormally; his eyebrows scrunched together, waiting for my response. I can’t help but gawk at him, my mouth drying out as it hangs open. He looks away and rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.
“I was rushing down the corridor yesterday when the bell sounded. Didn’t see the locker door open until it hit me square in the face,” he shrugs, trying to play off the state of his face with an eye roll. I didn’t ask, but his need to explain anyway has my stomach churning. “Anyway, it looks like I should be the one worried aboutyou. Where’s my morning smile?”
“You’re lying,” I whisper under my breath.
“What?”
“You’re lying to me,” I force past the nerves, more confidently this time. I meet his eyes, summoning the bravery he shows so effortlessly.
“Jules, I–”
“You said you would ask me.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You said you would ask me if you ever needed something. Why didn’t you?” I can’t hide the way my voice cracks. I can tell Zander heard it too; his face looks pained, almost like it split him right down the middle. This is the first time I’ve ever seen this look on him. His eyes are wary and scared, frantically searching mine, pleading for me to stop my relentless quest for the truth. His eyes swim with unshed tears as his grip on his backpack tightens.
“What exactly am I meant to ask you for, Jules?”
“HELP!” I can’t control the volume at which the word comes out, as I shrink back at my own voice. “You were meant to ask for help…”
“How could I?! You don’t see the world that I see–”
“You don’t get to do that. You don’t get to take a guess at what I can and can’t see.”
“Then tell me! Tell me what you see, right now.” He’s standing so close I can feel his chest push against mine with every angry breath he takes. This isn’t the Zander I’ve come to know; this one is cold and feels so far away, determined to shut me out.
“I see you, Zander, and right now it scares me.” His breathing doesn’t calm; if anything, he’s panting with anger. He seems to have this twisted view that I’m blind to what’s right in front of me. He couldn’t be more wrong, because when it comes to Zander, I seeeverything. “I think you're scared to let anyone get too close, because the marks all over your face and body remind you of what happens when you do. We’re just two dumb kids,but you’re smart enough to know that this isn’t okay. Let me help you. Please, Zander.”
I don’t know when I did it, or if he even realised, but our hands are now joined between our bodies, just like when we were younger. It doesn’t seem to matter how old we get; I will always reach for him, and I hope that he will reach for me, too.
“You don’t get it,” he says in a voice so small and tired, “he’s mydad, Jules. If he goes, what will I have left?” His words breaks my heart. How could he feel so alone when I’ve been right by his side the whole time? Have I not shown him enough love? I’ve been too busy letting him save me to realise he needs someone to save him too. Pushing my own hurt and guilt to one side, I step into the shoes that he usually wears, gathering up all the strength I have not to cry at his broken words.
“You have me, Zan. Always.”
That day, we skipped school. I called my Mom on the mobile she had gifted me for my last birthday and told her Zander and I needed to go home. I didn’t give her any details over the phone; it didn’t seem fair to drop something like that on her whilst she was at work, but I did tell her we would explain, and not to worry– we weresafe.
I spin to face Zander in the hallway. He’s standing nervously in front of the door, twiddling a piece of cotton between his fingers. Usually, he would be ripping off his coat and kicking his shoes into the cupboard by now, ready to race up to my bedroom to play the latest video game together. But all he does is stand there, weighing up the consequences of what’s to come. He knows that we can’t face his dad alone; he’s been trying forGod only knows how long. We need reinforcements. Zander needs an adult in his corner who will fight for him. Someone to testify to how much of a good kid he really is, one who can stand in front of a grown man and defend the innocence of the broken boy in my hallway.
“Wanna go eat our lunch in the living room and watch WWE?”
