On my way home, I saw him again. He was sitting on the curb, knees drawn to his chest. I instantly knew something was wrong with him. He was my friend after all, and friends knew these things, spoken or not.
"Johnny," I called softly to him. His head jerked up quickly at the sound of my voice, and I saw unshed tears in his big, black eyes. 'So he had been crying,' I thought. He gave a slight smile, his eyes clearly saying he was happy to see me.
"Hey," he replied, in just as soft a voice. I walked over and sat next to him silently. Now I could easily see why he was here. A dark bruise was appearing on his cheek and the area around one of his eyes was becoming a deep shade of purple. 'It was his dad again,' I thought bitterly. And, if I was right, there would be more bruises forming under his clothes. I draped my arm over his shoulders, as gently as I could, but he still flinched at the touch. I didn't know if he was sore or if it was just a reflex that he had developed because of his parents. Just as gently as my previous action, I semi-forced him to lean on me, his head resting on my shoulder. We sat like that for a while, whether it was mere minutes or over an hour, I didn't know or care. I could tell that he needed to be comforted, and even if he didn't, deep down I did.Neither of us talked the whole time we sat there. He didn't like to talk about it, and personally, neither did I. Forcing him to talk was kind of like taking something from a little kid, only worse. It was still taking something from someone weaker, but a kid will get over something physical, like the loss of a toy. But this, this was emotional. Pushing him while he was in this state could break him, and I couldn't bear to have that happen to him. Even though he was just as tough as any of us in a fight, he was the most sensitive when it came to life, to living.Besides, forcing information out of someone like him would leave a bad taste in my mouth.
Silently, he tuned to look at me. He spoke so softly, I wouldn't have heard him if I wasn't sitting as close to him as I was. I still had to strain to hear the whispered words that he spoke. "Thanks," he said quietly, that small, soft smile coming back to his face. I smiled back.
"No problem," I replied, squeezing his shoulder. I stood slowly, turning to face him once I was done. I put my hand out for him. "Come on. Let's go home." He smiled up at me, a full-blown grin this time, and grabbed my hand. I pulled him up and placed my arm on his shoulder once more, without him flinching at all. We walked to my house, our home, like that in peaceful silence.
End