Hadley quickly sat down, keeping her bag in her lap, wrapping her arms around it.

"This..." I struggled to take in an even breath for a second, fumbling with my words. "The whole story... it's not....it isn't like what they were saying. It didn't start that way."

"I didn't think it did," Hadley said softly.

It was a strange relief to hear her say that. It was good. I could keep going.

"I guess...I mean, everything started before I was even born. Back when my mom met my biological dad in high school, James St. Pierre." Every fiber of my being protested saying his name, but it was part of the story, so I kept going. "They started dating in their junior year and my mom ended up getting pregnant not too long after that. And naturally, my grandparents -- being all strict Catholic -- highly encouraged them to get married. I guess things were okay after I was born, at least for a while, but I'm not really sure. My mom doesn't like to talk about it, and I can't blame her for that."

I couldn't keep my hands from curling into fists and it set my teeth on edge, recalling the few things my mom had told me -- or the very few things that I could remember. 

"I'm sure you've already figured out by now that he -- St. Pierre -- wasn't the greatest person. He ended up getting really f-- screwed up with drugs and alcohol. His relationship with his own parents wasn't the greatest, I guess, and having a kid at eighteen didn't do him any good. There's no excuse for it either way, but my mom, though...she loved him, you know? Despite everything he did, how much he treated her like shit. But then it wasn't too long before he started knocking her around."

The bruises may have long since faded, but my mother's scars were still there, and painfully permanent. No matter how much she may profusely deny it, there was a part of my mom that would never completely heal from what she'd endured at the hands of my biological father.

"And then the one time he laid a hand on me, she finally snapped."

I was only four years old when my mother had made a run for it with me, and my grandparents took us in. What I remembered most about that time was how sad my mother had been, all the times I'd caught her crying, and how she'd try to distract me by playing silly little games whenever my biological father started throwing things around or yelling.

Usually, it was the go hide under your bed until mommy comes and finds you! game.

The instigating moment that caused my mother to get us the hell out of there was thanks to the scars from the cigarette burns on the back of my neck – the repercussion of asking for a snack too many times.

"So, my mom called the police, filed for a divorce, the whole nine yards," I continued.

At some point I'd started pacing, raking my fingers through my hair, but it felt like it was helping some to keep moving.

"We ended up moving in with my grandparents. Even though there was a restraining order taken out against him, St. Pierre didn't pay much attention to it. He'd come around at all hours of the night and day, banging on the doors, shouting about how my mom wasn't going to take me away from him. It took a while, but eventually he just stopped, and we figured that would be the end of it."

How completely wrong we'd been too.

"Then my mom met Chris." Time hadn't done a great job of preventing the little pinpricks of pain that shot through my system saying his name aloud. "He was definitely a good change from my biological father. He came into the coffee house one day, and I know it sounds stupid, but I think it was love at first for them. I swear I've never seen my mom as happy as she was when she was with Chris." 

I probably wouldn't ever again. 

"They ended up getting married later and Chris...he was one of the good guys. Ex-Army. Helped me with my homework all the time, taught me how to do math, how to play baseball, helped out in the coffeehouse whenever he could, did all these things with the rest of the family, and..."

I stopped when Hadley spoke for the first time in several minutes -- a quiet, "He was your dad. I mean, biology has nothing to do with it.

She'd been watching me the entire time I'd been pacing, explaining my family's long, sordid history. I didn't like that I couldn't tell what she was thinking, but I wasn't sure if I even wanted to know.

"Yeah," I finally said. "He was."

Chris formally adopting me so I could get rid of the last tie I had to my biological father -- my surname -- was just icing on the cake. 

Chris Morales was my father in every way that mattered. And if there was one thing the man had been good at, it was reminding me of that fact any chance he got.

"And then...Rosie?" Hadley hinted when I realized I'd spaced out.

"Rosie." I couldn't help the small burst of laughter. "Rosie was an unexpected surprise. I love her, don't get me wrong, but she's a handful." In more ways than one. "But before Rosie came along...that's kind of when it all went to hell."

The sudden lump stuck in my throat hurt and trying to speak around it hurt. 

"Of course you can imagine that St. Pierre was not at all happy about the fact that my mom had remarried and was now having a baby with another man. I don't know how he found out about it, but he knew."

I paused for half a second to wipe my hands on my pant legs, my palms way too sweaty. My heart started to pick up in pace, beating painfully against my chest, and the next breath of air I managed to pull in burned.

"So, one night... He... St. Pierre broke into our place. Chris went to see what was going on and then the next thing I knew, there was a bunch of yelling and shouting, glass breaking, so I...I ran into the kitchen, but he was..."

I was old enough when it happened to know that no one could survive having lost that much blood. And there had been enough blood splattering the kitchen cabinets that night to make it very clear that Chris hadn't had much of a chance of surviving what my biological father had done to him.

Though I tried desperately not to think about it even six years later, I still wasn't sure if I actually remembered the rest of what happened that night. I know I hadn't managed to evade my mother for long, ducking under her arm and running straight toward the source of the noise, because how could I have not? She'd been pregnant. I wasn't about to let her walk into danger like that.

 By the time she caught up with me, St. Pierre was long gone. There had been enough of a commotion to attract the attention of our neighbors. When the paramedics arrived, followed by the police, my mom and I had been ushered next door into our neighbor's apartment. 

Then came the waiting -- waiting to see if Chris was alive, waiting to be taken to the hospital so we could be examined too, waiting to be questioned about what happened...

It felt like I was abruptly yanked back into the present when I heard Hadley give a sharp gasp. When I looked over at her, her eyes were a lot brighter than they had been a few minutes ago.

"Archer, you --" Hadley pulled in some air and tried again. "You don't have to finish, I..."

I had this inkling that I knew what was coming next based on the expression on Hadley's face, and I leaned against the wall with a groan, rubbing my forehead with the heel of my hand.

It hurt thinking about this. 

I couldn't remember the last time I'd talked so much about that night or even tried to acknowledge that it had happened. I'd heard time and time again that you were supposed to share your feelings and "talk it out" or whatever, but I was currently of the opinion that was a load of crap. 

"Archer." Hadley shifted in the armchair, so she was leaning toward me. "I...I'm so --"

"Do not say you're sorry," I snapped. "And don't you dare pity me. I hate that look people get in their eyes when they hear about what happened and they want to make everything all better for me."

I knew my tone of voice had probably been way too harsh, but Hadley went with it, her expression remaining calm. "I don't pity you. Seriously. I...can't even begin to imagine everything you've been through. I guess I just...I want to help you."

Those last few words of hers felt like a slap to the face.

I want to help you.

I'd figured out by now that Hadley was one of the types who obviously wore their heart on their sleeve, and she was doing it again now, looking at me the way she was, saying, I want to help you.

For the life of me I didn't know why those words brought such a sense of relief and anger. Because I couldn't remember the last time anyone had so blatantly told me that they wanted to help me.

And that was frightening in a way I didn't want to think about.

"I don't want help," I forced out through clenched teeth. "I don't need your help."

Hadley scowled for half a second and then it was gone, her demeanor calm and composed again. "If you say so," she said. "But look. I give you permission to hate this all you want, but I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. Obviously, I haven't run off screaming just because you told me what happened to your family, right?"

I couldn't deny that, but I refused to answer.

"So that being the case," Hadley continued coolly. "I propose we stop picking on each other and maybe actually give the whole friend thing an honest chance."

"Friends," I repeated skeptically. "I don't even know what being a friend means."

I wasn't sure if I'd ever legitimately had one.

"You know what? I don't think I do either," Hadley said, and then she gave me a half-smile. "I'd be happy to find out with you, though."

A few beats of awkward silence passed before Hadley cleared her throat, shifting in the chair. "Archer, I just want you to know...what you told me, it stays between us. So...thank you. For telling me."

I had no response at first. Somehow saying you're welcome didn't really seem appropriate. It wasn't as if I'd enjoyed the conversation. 

But I also couldn't deny that I was thankful Hadley had simply sat there and listened to me talk. And the strange thing was -- I felt heard. 

"Yeah, whatever," I said, ready to put this topic rest. "Sure." 

The bell rang overhead the next second, and I was surprised to realize that all of fifth period had already passed. 

"We should probably get out of here," I said, glancing up at the wall clock nearby. 

Hadley jumped to her feet, swinging her bag over her shoulder. "Right. Can't afford to miss study hall." 

I walked with Hadley out of the library after that, now wondering what the feeling currently unfolding in the pit of my stomach was. It was something completely foreign to me, I knew that much, but maybe not unwelcome. 

 Maybe it even felt a little bit like hope.