The first week of school came and went. I put on a brave face in front of my friends and tried to enjoy some aspect of being there but it never worked. Friday afternoon, I came home right after class instead of hanging around the campus with my friends like I used to.

I climbed the stairs and went straight into my bedroom, kicking the door shut behind me. I threw my backpack onto my computer chair and flopped down on my bed. Crossing my arms behind my head, I stared at the ceiling. My mind would constantly wonder throughout the day, taking me back to when my mum was still alive. I would see us playing in the backyard while my father cooked steaks on the grill. The first Christmas we had with Debbie; I kept moving all her toys into my pile, leaving her with just her rattle and pacifier.

I smiled at that memory as my eyes drooped slowly, the ceiling blurring before darkness consumed me.

The moment I opened my eyes again, I immediately noticed that the ceiling had changed. I was not in my room anymore, yet, I felt a sense of familiarity. I was in my room. My room in England. But how?

I sat up and looked around. Nothing had changed. I hopped off the bed and ran to the door, whipping it open only to be greeted with a dark, dirty hallway.

I stepped out cautiously, making sure not to step on any of the beer cans that littered the hallway.

Noises coming from downstairs alerted me that someone was in the house. I followed the sounds into the kitchen where my little sister stood, rummaging through an empty cabinet.

From behind, I could tell that she had lost weight. Her once form fitting shirts now looked like she had taken something out of my closet to wear. Her hair was a mess and looked like it hadn't been washing in days.

I took a few tentative steps closer, calling her name out but she didn't hear me. She just muttered to herself about needing food for dinner or 'he' would be upset.

I tried to call her name again but she still didn't hear me and that's when she turned around.

My stomach turned violently as I took in her bruised face. Her eye looked like it was just starting to recover from a black eye. I could still see some purple bruising around the fading, yellowing bruise. Her lip was split and a scab was starting to form. Tears burned my eyes and I had to shut them, not being able to bear the sight of her anymore.

When my eyes opened again, I was back in the States. Back in my room but the image of my sister's face refused to go away. I told myself that it was just a dream, that she was perfectly fine and healthy.

Still, the sinking feeling in my stomach remained. How could I be so sure that she was alright? How could I know that he hasn't laid a finger on her since I left? I couldn't. I couldn't bear the thought of something like that happening to her and in that moment, I knew what I had to do.

I walked back downstairs and out onto the back porch where my grandmother always sat every afternoon, reaching her romance novels. She glanced up and smiled, setting her book down when she saw me walk out. "I didn't know you were home so early." She said, pointing to the chair beside her. "What brings you out here?"

I sat down in the chair and let out a deep breath. "I'm ready to talk now."

Once I started talking, I just couldn't stop. I told my grandmother everything from Brad to Danny to my father's actions when I finally came out to him.

She listened to every word I said with a look of relaxed concentration. She never batted an eye lash to anything. She just nodded and listened.

When I had finished my story, she watched me silently for a moment then rose from her chair, leaned down and kissed both my cheeks. "I love you Dougie." She said, looking down at me lovingly. "And I'm very proud of you for telling me. It takes a lot of courage to tell someone all of that and I promise you, I'll find a way to make this better."

"But how?"

She smiled and tapped the side of her nose. "Your granny has her ways."

I didn't question her any further. She knew and wanted to help and that's all that mattered to me.