Here is a thoughtful perspective on Haley's private suffering. If I can tie up some loose ends quickly, the next chapter will feature grown-up Aaron, David Rossi, and a very tricky FBI trainee situation. So stay tuned! Thank you for reading, and for your patience, and please, please, please review! Muchas gracias!

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All Haley wanted was to hold Aaron's hand and enjoy a sweet, worry-free high school romance.

This simple dream of hers shattered every day. Today, she sat in study hall working through a sheet of math problems and wondering if Aaron would show up. She hadn't seen him yet today, and that usually meant he was taking another "sick day." The very thought made Haley feel sick.

She looked up at the sound of the classroom door opening behind her. Aaron pushed the door open with his shoulder and quietly slipped inside. His right hand was buried in his pocket, and he had his notebook tucked under his arm. His left hand was clenched and shaking, his knuckles and fingers mottled with purple, scarlet, and white.

Haley didn't mean to stare, but Aaron soon caught her eye and walked toward her. He sat in the empty seat at her left and dropped his notebook. Everybody in study hall looked up briefly as it hit the floor with pages flapping open.

When Aaron didn't move, Haley bent over to pick up the notebook. She leaned close as she returned it and whispered, "Are you okay?"

Aaron was breathing heavily. He gave a quick nod of the head, but Haley didn't believe for a second that he was okay.

Aaron reached for the pencil on his desk, but his hand shook too hard and his fingers wouldn't grip it properly. With a sideways glance, Haley got a good look at the deep bruising all over the front and back of his left hand. She winced, trying in vain to imagine how much that must hurt.

She suspected that his hand, held up in self defense, had been struck so hard with something like a belt, so many times, that he literally could not hold a pencil today. He tried anyway, but he kept tearing up, which in turn made his face redden, and he seemed so ashamed and helpless. He laid out his math papers, pausing frequently. Every time he tried to use his hand, he looked like he was about to cry.

Haley set down her own pencil. "Let me help you," she whispered.

"I'm okay..." her friend mumbled.

"No, you're not. What happened to your hand?"

Aaron said nothing, but he didn't stop Haley from examining the damage. "It does look bad." She bit her lip, thinking. "Let me see your other hand."

Aaron's right hand was still buried up to the wrist in his jeans pocket. He tensed and jammed it in deeper. "No. You don't need to see it."

Haley felt the familiar wrenching in her stomach. She felt sick and anxious. "Maybe... maybe I can help. Let me see."

"No." His answer was firm and final.

Haley's mouth went dry. "Is it that bad?" she whispered.

Aaron lowered his head. "Mom keeps forgetting I'm left-handed. I don't ever want her to remember."

Haley made sure Aaron was looking at his papers before she wiped her eyes with her palm. What did his monster mother do? Just beat his hands to a pulp?

"I'll tell you what," she whispered. "I'll write your answers for you. You work out the problems and tell me what to write."

"I can't make you do that..."

"You're not. I'm choosing to. Now what do you make of the first problem?"

Aaron stared at the paper, then shook his head. "I can't do this."

"Yes, you can. You need to find x, okay? How should you rearrange the equation?"

Aaron didn't look up. "Subtract 36y - 78 from both sides," he said in a low monotone.

Haley began transcribing what he said. Her own hand shook a little as she wrote. "Now what?"

"Would you mind solving it for me as well?"

Haley smiled. "Sorry. I'm just here to write."

Aaron gave her a smile-grimace and continued talking through the problem. He now rested his wounded left hand in his lap, and he had began to rock back and forth a bit from the pain. Haley drew no attention to the sight of him wiping his eyes and nose on his shoulder. However, she worried that anybody else who saw them would wonder why in the world math made him cry, especially when he had such a good friend to help him with it.

Today, math was an agonizing emotional experience. Haley couldn't wait to get home and, honestly, away from Aaron. Being with him on days like today made her feel irreversibly sad and hopeless for him.

Haley barely said a word during dinner. She kept watching everybody's hands while they ate. Jessica's hand reached for the butter dish, grabbed a knife and cut her bread, brushed a curl of blond hair from her face, manipulated her fork, caught a runaway pea from the tabletop, and rumpled up a napkin at her face. She didn't even think about every small movement her hand made. She made it look as easy as breathing. Everybody did. Using their hands for detailed, commonplace tasks came so naturally, they didn't even appreciate the painless freedom with which they moved.

Now Haley imagined Aaron having dinner. He probably couldn't even hold his utensils. She could see him wincing every time he reached for his glass. Could he even close his hands on each bite long enough to bring it to his mouth? What about cleaning up afterward? Could he carry his dishes, wash them? How long would it take him to brush his teeth, wash his face, and change his clothes? And what about going to bed? How could he rest his hands so they didn't hurt so much and keep him awake?

"I said, how was school, Haley?" Her mom's voice brought her back to the kitchen table.

Haley shrugged. "Fine."

It was an easy, neutral answer that she had gotten away with many times before. This time, her mom seemed to sense that all was not fine.

"Did you do well on your quiz?" her mom pressed.

"I'm sure I did." Haley caught herself stirring peas with her fork. Who does that?

"Anything you want to talk about?"

Haley shook her head, an adamant no.

Jessica gladly inserted herself into the silence and began telling everybody, in painful detail, about her uninteresting freshman life. Haley glared at her bread as she buttered it, having failed to silence her sister with a look. Why doesn't she shut up already?

The sisterly strife, spawned seemingly from nothing, intensified after dinner when Haley practically ordered Jessica to wash the dishes. Jessica reacted like her sister was a Soviet dictator.

"You can't tell me what to do. It's your turn to wash the dishes, Haley! I did them last night."

"You're making things up. Just do it, Jessie."

"No, it's not my turn!"

"You always say that! Just wash the stupid dishes!"

Their dad was sitting in the parlor with a newspaper hiding his face, but his voice carried well into the kitchen. "Girls! That's enough. Split the dishes."

Haley looked down in shame. Why was she arguing with her sister about chores? It wasn't a big deal, really. She argued with Jessica all the time. But this was the first time she actually felt bad about it.

Somberly, Haley helped wash the dishes, and then she trudged upstairs to unwind in her room. She laid out her homework on her desk and looked through her tape collection for some good mood music. She remembered something and looked in her bag. Aaron had lent her one of his favorite tapes, the Beatles' Red Album: Hits from 1962-1966. Haley found the cassette, slipped it into the player, and with two fingers pressed down hard on the 'play' button.

From the player rose a cheerful slew of sweet but superficial love songs. Haley craved the superficial. She was desperate for simple joy and affection, unmarred by concerns that no child or adolescent should experience.

She sat in front of her homework, but she didn't even read the first problem. Instead, she daydreamed about pebbles hitting her window until she looked down and saw Aaron with a brand new Pontiac Trans Am, preferably red—Haley's favorite style in new cars. He would smile and beckon, and then she would sneak out her window and go for a drive with him. Maybe they would catch a late movie. They wouldn't have a care in the world.

Why couldn't he be that kind of boyfriend?

The Beatles continued to rock and roll unfazed. "I want to hold your ha-a-a-a-nd!"

Haley listened wistfully for a few seconds, then quickly stopped the tape.

With a sigh, she turned away from the homework on her desk and flopped onto her bed. She reached for a teen magazine from the lamp table and peeled it open. Supermodel Phoebe Cates had perfect skin, perfect hair, a perfect smile—every girl's envy. Thanks in part to her, Haley often dreamed of being a brunette.

Now, Ms. Cates looked plastic and uninspiring on the glossy pages. Haley's eyes glazed through a hyper article about the young model and rested on a colorful ad she had studied many times before. Perfect skin in just ten days!

She worried about acne, while Aaron worried about constant welts and bruises.

Haley threw the magazine aside and closed her eyes. In her frustration, she found herself again imagining the romance of her dreams. Almost instantly, she pushed those thoughts away, but she immediately missed them. She was left with the pain of anxiety and a feeling of being completely torn between emotions.

Could she continue being such a good friend to Aaron, such a close confidante? This was getting too hard for her, having to constantly worry about someone else's problems. As selfish as it sounded, she sincerely wished she had a normal boyfriend.

Other couples held hands all the time. Their affection was uncomplicated. They shared equally with each other, neither having to carry more weight in the relationship. A normal boyfriend might come to school with a natural smile and open arms. Haley might actually be able to hold his hand without worrying about putting pressure on terrible wounds. And she wouldn't be left at the end of every day to go home struggling privately with the effects of his injuries and feeling complicit in her inaction. She felt guilty for wishing for a normal boyfriend, but the thoughts would not go away.

What was so wrong about wishing for something so good? Why did she have to feel guilty about being a normal teen?

A light knock on the door raised Haley's head from the mattress. "Who is it?" she asked.

"It's your dad. Can I come in?"

Haley quickly sat up. "Okay."

Her dad stepped inside and turned her desk chair with one hand. He sat a few feet away, hands resting on his knees, gaze soft. He sighed. "Your mom thought I should check on you. You've been acting like something's bothering you."

Haley furrowed her brow and shrugged. "I'm okay. School can be stressful."

Her dad stared hard with his knowing eyes. "Are you really okay? What's going on, honey?"

Haley said nothing as she stared right back at her dad. He was big and strong. Intimidating. He could easily make Aaron's parents stop their cruelty forever.

In her mind, Haley began composing the words she would tell him: My friend Aaron is getting beaten like a hated animal every single day. I'm sick of seeing him hide his wounds. I'm sick of seeing him cradle a broken bone or wince when he moves. I'm sick of doing nothing, and I need you to storm into his home, take his parents by the throat, and—

She suddenly looked down. Stop. You made Aaron a promise.

She didn't dare share the secret. She didn't know what kinds of threats Aaron's parents had made, but she did know that he absolutely insisted nobody discover the truth. She blinked back tears before facing her father again.

"I'm fine," she said. "Mom was right; I've been under a lot of stress with the last few quizzes, but I'm fine now."

She didn't know if her dad believed her. Finally, he patted her on the shoulder and got to his feet. "I love you, Haley."

"Love you, Dad."

"Goodnight."

She waited for him to close the door. Then she sprang to her feet and turned off the light so she didn't have to keep looking at the movie posters and photos of rock stars that were taped to her walls. She was an expert at drowning herself in meaningless and distracting entertainments. But that was all they were: distractions from the real problems of life that she had to face, one way or another.

Now she just wanted to think. She wanted to cry. She wanted to hold Aaron's hand and make it all better.

Haley wrapped her arms around her pillow and buried half her face in it so she could still see the window with one eye. She gazed out at the starry sky, wondering why people lived in a limitless, complex universe filled with solar systems, planets, continents, varied plants and animals, diverse communities—and all Aaron got to see of it was fist after fist after...

What was the point? Why did Aaron exist in this world just to get battered by those who should love him most? And what could Haley possibly do to make his existence any bit more bearable?

Tears soaked the pillowcase beneath Haley's face. She sniffled and closed her eyes. She wondered if Aaron was ever happy, if he saw any point to living, or if he would really rather die after all. What could come of his suffering? What could possibly make his experiences less meaningless and perhaps even... worthwhile?

Dear Aaron, if I only could, I would take all the monsters away. I want to save you from the pain, but I don't know what to do. I'm sorry, so sorry...

Haley muffled her sobs with her pillow. Hope was the only thing she could think of that might get Aaron through this. Did he have hope?

Whatever the case, Haley needed a moment to mourn the slaying of his innocence. She cried unabashedly, praying with all her might for hope. Hope for Aaron, and hope for her.

Nobody, especially not her parents, could know how upset being with her best friend made her. Aaron's burden of secrecy was Haley's burden too, an agonizing, crushingly heavy 24/7 burden.

Was this what love was supposed to be like? Could they get by on hope alone?