I saw him. His face was covered in grime, sweat and tears. They had whipped him again, I could tell. I stared at disbelief and in terror as he walked by my piece of floor. His shirt was torn down the back, and covered in blood. He looked down at me as he passed. I had to claw at the floor to keep from shuddering. His eyes were so dark, so tough that they sent shivers down my spine. Either that or it was because of my lack of blanket. I couldn't help but remember when I first met him, when I first fell for him.

It was five or six years ago when I was first taken to the workhouse. My parents gave me up when I was born and I lived in an orphanage. However, when it went bankrupt they had to send me and the few other kids who hadn't been adopted to assorted workhouses.

It was my third night there when it happened. I hadn't eaten since I got there and I had gotten whipped a few times as well. The older children there got beds so I slept on the floor. Well, not necessarily the older in age kids, but the ones who've been there longest.

I slept on my side, which hurt almost as bad as sleeping on my back. I shivered with hunger and cold. I suddenly felt something draped over me and heard something hard fall next to my head. I looked up to find a blanket over my torso and a piece of bread next to me. I turned around to find a boy around my age, maybe a year older, walking back to his empty bed.

I sat up and looked down at the roll. My stomach growled and a wave of nausea rolled over me. Without a second thought I slammed the bread into my mouth and chewed it savagely.

I was about to take a second bite but I suddenly heard a hungry voice mutter, "Food!" A sudden wave of children threw themselves on me. I screamed and pulled the blanket over me, which didn't help. I felt the bread being pulled relentlessly out of my grasps and I cried out. However they didn't seem to care. I didn't want to but I began to cry, pulling the blanket up over me in sadness and defeat.

Suddenly I heard a voice cry out, "Stop! Stop, stop, stop!" I looked up to find the boy who'd given me the bread in the first place. He stood in front of me, his back to me. The other kids who were fighting for my bread however didn't stop their brawl.

They didn't stop until a rough voice called out, "Shut up and stand at attention!" With that everyone got up and stood in two straight lines. I got up and stood in the left one.

Standing in the doorway was Headmaster. We never called him by his real name, which I heard was Mr. Morison, just Headmaster. He was a large, robust man with dark olive skin and black hair. He held a long thin whip that hung by his thigh. He walked up and down the row staring into our eyes however we didn't meet them.

Then the fifth time he walked by me he kicked the now grubby piece of bread over to me. When he had his back turned I bent over and grabbed it. However when I stood up again I found Headmaster smirking in front of me. He then snatched the bread out of my hand and threw it on the ground. "Bend over and pick it up!" He said slapping the whip against his thigh. I gulped and bent over not grabbing the bread. I knew he was going to whip me. Stealing food wasn't good, unless you wanted ten good lashings. A single tear rolled down my face, ready for the pain I was about to feel.

I looked up slightly to find the boy who'd given me the bread in the first place. He looked appalled, like he couldn't believe I wasn't ratting him out. I held my breath, waiting for the whip to come crashing down. However it never came. "Wait, please stop!" I looked up again to find the boy pleading with Headmaster. "I brought the bread down here, I gave it to her. Whip me, punish me!"

We all stared in disbelief at him. "Tobias, sit down," Headmaster growled, "This girl didn't tell me it was you so it's obvious she wants the punishment much more then you do." With that he brought the whip up and cracked against my back. I gasped in pain and clenched my fists. Again and again I gasped, and again and again the pain filled me.

Finally the whip rested in Headmasters hands. I shook with pain and fell, kneeling, on the ground. Headmaster laughed and walked away. "Oh I almost forgot," he said and walked around so he was in front of me. "Here," and with that he dropped a small bottle of liquid by my knees. "Have a nice night."

And with that he walked out of the room. As he left however he slammed the door with a deafening CRASH. As if that were a signal everyone scattered to their beds. I knew I wouldn't be able to move without crying so I stayed still. Finally, I was able to move into a sitting position. I let a few tears fall down my face as I reached for the small hip flask Headmaster had dropped. I was about to take a sip from it when a pair of legs appeared in front of me. "I wouldn't drink that if I was you," the boy said. It was the boy who'd given me the bread, the boy who'd tried to take the whipping for me. The boy called Tobias.

"Why?" I asked weakly.

"Cause it's probably the worst ale he has. Here, I've got some gin under my pillow." With that he walked over to his bed and pulled a large bottle out from under his pillow. I began to stand up but quickly sat back down. It was too painful.

"Umm, could you bring it over here?" I asked sheepishly. He smiled and carried the bottle over to me.

"So, before this takes full affect, you want to tell me your name?" He asked sitting next to me.

"My name's Jesse," I answered.

"What about your last name?" He asked, sliding a little closer to me.

"I don't have one, or at least I don't know it," I said, resenting my parents for never telling me. "What about you?"

"Well, my real name is Tobias Raggs. However everyone calls me Toby," he said.

I smiled, glad he was friendly. "So, are your parents alive?" He asked, hitting the subject I wanted so desperately to avoid.

I bit the inside of my cheek and looked down. "My parents… gave me up. They gave me up when I was born. I was sent to an orphanage after that. Then it…closed down. And I was sent here."

He nodded sympathetically. "I'm sorry. We've both had it rough. I've been here since I was born." With that he handed me the bottle. "Here, drink it. It'll make you feel better, and it'll help you sleep. Just one piece of advice, when you fall asleep, stay asleep. I wouldn't want you seeing what happens in the shadows."

With those words he walked back over to his bed. I took the bottle and drank from it. The gin had a weird taste. It was dry with a somewhat bitter taste. However I started feeling sleepy almost immediately. I wrapped the bottle in my arms and feel asleep.

That was the first time I fell for him, that was the first time I fell for Toby.

Now as he lay on his stomach moaning in pain I fell again. I turned over so he, and no one else, would see the pain I felt. But the pain wasn't like a whipping or hunger. It was a pain deep in my heart. It was a longing. I loved him so much I couldn't bare it.

I eventually turned over when I heard retching noises coming from his bed. Running over to him I grabbed the water basing from the mantle over the small fireplace. "Here we are," I whispered as the remains of his meager dinner fell into the bucket.

Finally the retching fell to coughing and the coughing turned to silence. He looked up at me. I smiled weakly down at him. "Someday," he wheezed, "I'll get out of this place." I nodded in agreement.

"Here," he said sliding over to make room for me in the bed. I pulled my blanket over us and grabbed his hand under the blanket. "This is a hell," he whispered, "but who says there aren't angels in hell." And as squeezed my hand I knew he was talking about me.

All in all, with Toby by my side my life wasn't a total terror. Until about a year, that is, after that night, when my life fell apart, in more ways then one.