He was six when his Mother helped him set up his book shelves in an unfamiliar room. Her short, dirty blonde hair was disheveled, but she was still smiling. "Goodness, Eli. I never quite realized how many books you have." She remarked, peering into another cardboard box. "I'll let you sort these out now." His Mom kissed his forehead and ruffled his hair, leaving him alone. 

Phoebe watched him from his new doorway, leaning against the frame, squeezing her toy purple bunny rabbit. Eli started to put his books up on his shelves, tiptoeing on the edge of his bed to reach the top ones. Phoebe suddenly sprinted from his doorway, and Eli crinkled his nose up in confusion. She was back just as quickly, holding a blue toy bunny rabbit. 

She held it out to him, still in his doorway. "It's for you." She remarked, and Eli hopped off the bed to take it from her, turning the toy over in his hands. She peered up at him from behind her too long bangs. "They're brother and sister." She informed him. Eli smiled. 

He was eight when he got hit the first time. It was the evening, and his Mom was out shopping. He was slapped swiftly across the cheek for talking back. Eli felt the bruise on his cheekbone, and ran to his room to wait for his Mom to come home. 

His Mom felt across his purple cheekbone with a shivering sigh, tears brimming in her eyes. The way she kissed his forehead and hugged him extra long gave Eli all of his confidence back. He could hear the argument long and far into the night, and that morning, he started to pack the suitcase he had come in. 

Phoebe stood in his doorway and watched him throw clothes into his suitcase. "Why'd you have to tattle?" She asked, cold eyes burning into his. He rolled his eyes and started to choose his favorite books to pack. Phoebe walked in and sat on the edge of his bed, swinging her legs back and forth. "We can still be friends." Eli remarked, feeling bad. 

"But not brother and sister." Her gaze sliced through his heart. That afternoon, Eli's Mom closed his door behind her and sat next to him on the bed. She told him that Mitch was very sorry, and that he would never do anything like it again. Eli tried his best to believe her. 

He was nine when he found his Mom on the couch after school. She was laying down, curled up, shivering. He'd rushed over to her and saw her bruised eye and cut lip. Eli dropped his backpack and ran to the freezer to grab an ice pack. 

He held it to her lip, and started to stroke her hair as she used to do for him. She took the ice pack and pushed his hand away from her hair. "Go to your room, Eli." She said quietly but harshly, eyes red from crying. 

That was the day Eli realized the unspoken rule. That they were to ignore each others pain, and go on pretending. He walked right past her the next time, and the time after that. She never even tried to help him, not once, not after that day. 

He was ten when the bullying started. His quiet demeanor, accompanied by the messy hair, and the bruise or cut that would show up almost weekly, made him a target no bully could ignore. He was too tired, too scared, too everything, to do anything. He took the bullying at school the same way he took it at home. Quietly. 

If Phoebe happened to be around, she would start to scream, shrill and unrelenting, until teachers came or the bullies got scared and walked away. She would help Eli up and help him brush the dirt off of his clothes and face. He wondered why she couldn't do the same at home. He wondered why he couldn't do anything anywhere. 

He was 12 when the teachers noticed. His Principal sat with a concerned look on her face, asking him where he got the stitches that lined a portion of his forehead. He told her he fell down the stairs. His house, of course, didn't have stairs, but they didn't know that. 

That same day, he was sent to the school counselor, who immediately felt her heart jump. The boy was battered and bruised, and she refused to believe it was from a staircase. After grilling him for a few days, Eli finally gave up the bullies, even though they weren't exactly responsible, just to get her off of his back.

A couple months later, the counselor called his Mom and arranged a home visit, saying there were some important issues to discuss. Eli's Mom checked with her husband, and then agreed. Eli waited silently, dread filling him, as his Mom ran around, cleaning the house. 

Phoebe sat on the end of his bed. "I didn't want her to come." He said, and she didn't respond. Eli scratched his thumbnail along the back of his hand to help him calm down. The two listened at Phoebe's rooms door, the room closest to the dining room. They could hear the adults chatting, the counselor saying nice things about Eli. 

At the table, Mona Roth, a school counselor for almost 15 years, tried to read the couple in front of her. She folded her hands together. "The main reason I'm here is," She licked her lips, scared to say the words, "I'm afraid that your son seems to have a depressive disorder." She awaited the questions, the gasps, perhaps even some tears. 

Instead, Mitch cackled. "A depressive disorder?" His laugh boomed again, startling Mona. "He's got an attitude, that's what he's got." Mona couldn't believe her ears, her mouth fell open. 

"Mitch," Eli's Mother said quietly. 

"Karen," Mitch interrupted. "He's always been this way. He needs some discipline, that's all. Maybe a hobby or two. You let him sit in his room and read all day, the kid has no friends! No wonder he gets bullied!" 

"Mr. Fletcher, with all due respect, I'm certain of what I'm seeing. If you take him in to see a psychologist, they'll say the same thing. He should be getting treatment early, before-"

"Thanks, Mrs. Roth, but we can handle the raising of our son." Mitch's anger bar was reaching a dangerous level, and his teeth gritted together as he spoke. 

"Eli?" Phoebe whispered, ear still against her door. 

"Yeah, Pheebs?" Eli turned his head to face her. 

"What does 'depressive disorder' mean?" 

"I don't know." 

After that day, Eli never saw Mona or any other school counselors again. 

He was 14 when he knew that the counselor a couple years ago had been right. He would stare at his desk in class, the same thoughts jogging circles around his mind as he scratched at his hands and wrists. Sometimes he felt like he couldn't walk, like he was carrying around some invisible weight. Sometimes everything hurt. 

His brain always hurt, and it never stopped. He was friendless, but too tired to care. Phoebe would watch him from across the cafeteria as she sat with her group of friends, pushing his food around his tray.

He was 16 when Phoebe told him she was worried about him. She stood in his doorway, willowy and silent. Eli jumped when he looked up and spotted her. She sometimes looked like a ghost. So pale, so quiet. She was never fully there, at home. 

Eli would watch Phoebe at school. She was lively, surrounded by friends. She was smart and funny, she would laugh, flirt with the football players. Eli wished he could do what she did. Phoebe had detached herself. She was two people- ghost Phoebe at home, quiet and scarce, and real Phoebe outside, alive and present. 

"I need you to stop." Phoebe said. Eli frowned and went back to reading his book. She was always so direct, and yet never said what she meant at first. "Eli." She demanded his attention. "Stop what?" Eli asked, glancing up at her. Phoebe frowned. Eli rolled his eyes and started to read again. 

Huffing, Phoebe stalked over to him and grabbed his arm. "Phoebe!" He yanked his arm out of her grip. "I'm not an idiot, Eli." She whisper shouted. "I know we don't talk about things in this family, but I can't do it anymore." 

Eli didn't have a response, so Phoebe grabbed his forearm and pulled it towards her. She pushed his sweater sleeve down, revealing the scars. "This, Eli." She gripped his arm tighter, "Stop doing this." 

Eli looked away from her. She dropped his arm. "You're scaring me, Eli." She said softly, and when he looked up at her again, there were tears brewing in her eyes. He gulped and pulled his sleeve back. "Okay." He whispered. 

He was 18 when he graduated, and Phoebe was the only one waiting for him, clapping in the audience. She hugged him and whispered in his ear, "You made it." 

When Eli stood in Phoebe's doorway and asked her to come with him, she laughed. They were alone in the house, like most afternoons since they were small. "Why not?" Eli asked, "Pheebs, this route, I have it all figured it out. It's cheap, and I have money saved up, and I can get a job, and we can-"

"Eli." Phoebe moved her textbook off of her lap and leaned forward on her bed. "I can't go to New York. But you should." 

"I won't leave you here." He stated, glancing at the cut on her forehead. 

"I'll be fine."

"If I leave, he'll take it out on you." 

"He won't." 

Eli crossed his arms. Phoebe was adamant. "He won't." She emphasized. "Look, Eli. It's different for me. I have friends, and I have school, and college. A whole plan. This time next year I'll be in a dorm room." She stood up. Eli looked down at the carpet. 

"I hate this house as much as you do. But this city is where I belong." 

"But it's not where I belong?" 

"You're done school, you aren't going to college," Phoebe sighed, "It's about to be whole lot worse for you here, especially after the police thing." She walked up close to him, trying to make him look her in the eyes. "I want you to see what it's like out there," She said quietly, "People- they surprise you. Most of them are pretty good." 

Phoebe's thin fingers grasped at his. He felt tears welling up, something that he hated. Still looking at the carpet, he whispered, "I don't want to leave you." 

"I know." 

The day Eli left, he was scared. The sun was shining, and Phoebe was standing beside him. She had skipped her last class of the day to be there. When the dirty white bus stopped in front of him, he felt panic rise up in his chest. 

Phoebe's eyes spilled over with tears while Eli put his suitcase under the bus. She pulled him into a tight hug, and Eli's heart broke in half, his eyes wet. "Be good, okay?" He said into her shoulder. "You be good." She replied. Pulling away, she said, "I'm proud of you. You're doing something, Eli. Something for yourself." She wiped tears off of her cheeks and sharp nose. 

"Thanks, Pheebs." Eli gripped his bag, looking up to the waiting bus, "I'll call you." 

"How long until your phone service runs out?" She laughed. 

"Fine. I'll email you." He smiled at her. 

"Okay," She said, feeling like she might cry again, "Now, go." 

Eli watched Phoebe's willowy figure grow smaller and smaller as the bus drove away. He stared out the back window and squinted, trying to commit her every detail to memory before it was too late.