In Memory by CJ Lyons

complicated text. As I read I became aware of a sort of pit-pat noi se, like water was dripping. L ooked around for the source of the noise, looking up and down.
    S aw what it was, leaking off the table, a stream of crimson from where he was sleeping.
    T hrew my book on the table and grabbed his shoulders, pushing him up from his slouched position. His head lolled back, blood streamed from the longer cut on his neck , his stitches were split . Crimson stained the front of his perfect white shirt, vivid red on the crisp fabric.
    I held his head up, keeping it from falling back, praying that his stitches wouldn’t split any more. There were only two other students in the room; they weren’t even paying attention. You’d think they would, but no.
    He didn’t respond when I called his name in a panic, save for moving his head a little.
    “Noah!” I said again, clamping my hand over the wound on his neck. “C’mon, get up!”
    Eventually, he came around enough to speak. “What- Aerie, wh -”
    “Tell me what happened, hey, stay alert.”
    “Went home early… it’s noth -“
    “It’s never nothing!” I raised my voice, more angry that he was too afraid to tell me what happened. I think I was angry with myself too. “Tell me what happened!”
    “I don’t know…” he said quietly, “…I’m sorry. Please… don’t… yell at me…”
    I bit my lip, feeling like he scolded me, even though he did nothing of the sort.
    “I’m sorry, Noah. I’m just worried for you.” My words felt scripted, mechanical. I couldn’t say what I was really feeling; it wouldn’t put itself into words. “I’m worried when you’re hurt. Tell me who did this.”
    “I can’t.” He put his hand over his face, suppressing his emotions, “I can’t. No one believed me, it’ll never change.”
    “Noah…” I grabbed his hand, pulling it away to look him in the eye. “I will believe you. Just tell me.”
    I already suspected, I just needed the confirmation…
    “My… father. He’s the one who…” He shook his head and bit his lip, a shamed blush coloring his cheeks.

“You need to tell the police. They could-“
    “They don’t listen, they believe him. No one believes me. It’s unreasonable to think they should.” He closed his eyes; he’s fading in and out, “Sorry… I’ve been awake most of the night.” Rubbing his eyes, he sat up, steadying himself by holding the sides of the table. “But… you believe me?”
    “I believe you.” I kept my hand on his split stitches, “Why would you lie about something like this?”
    “I never lie. That’s the only thing I stopped telling the truth about.”
    To me, that was a profound statement.
    He took a deep breath, seeming to recover. We went to the hospital. I didn’t really care about my afternoon classes today anyway. Terra’s friend Mary removed and replaced his stitches, and tutted and tsked about us being out of school. At least she didn’t ask loads of questions.
    F igured getting him to eat and rehydrate was important. After his stitches were redone and bandaged, we went to the hospital cafeteria. I had made two sandwiches identical to the one I made yesterday. I also had cake, and two apple juiceboxes .
    “Why do you care about me?” he asked. He has an odd way of asking questions, like they are all simply for an intellectual understanding of the subject matter or something.
    “Uh, I just think friends are important, and… I don’t have any, and you don’t, so I thought we should be friends.”
    “That seems like insubstantial reasoning for your actions.”
    “Well, that’s all I got.” I smiled, running my hand through my hair nervously.
    “Maybe there are other factors you haven’t considered, but are there nevertheless.”
    “Like what?”
    “Maybe there is something about me that you find sympathetic, and it’s your own nature to protect a person that isn’t able to protect themselves. A sort of way to establish yourself as an