My parents must have heard my scream because there were two sharp knocks against my door and the muffled voice of my dad which followed. I let them in and they proceeded to dumbly stare at Raven. It was my mom who reacted first. She walked up to the grief-stricken boy and in one swift move, she put her arms around him and hugged him.

He started to sob uncontrollably at the gesture and my chest constricted. I was by his side in an instant, my arms replacing my mom's. He wrapped his arms around me , burying his face into my stomach as his body quivered. I started to caress his head whispering that things would be alright.

It was nerve wracking to watch him break in my arms. His sobs soon turned into sniffles and he loosened his grasp on me.

"I'm sorry." His voice was raspy as he continued "Can I stay over for the night?"

Tears were streaking down his face and I brushed them off with the hem of my sleeves.

"You can stay for as long as you want, honey." My mom uttered in a soft, loving tone and my muscles tensed. I forgot that they were still in the room.

"We're going to set out a plate for you as well, so why don't you take a shower first and then come for dinner Raven?" My dad's tone had softened as well. Raven bobbed his head and went back to burying his face into my abdomen.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

He responded with a muffled ' not now' and his death grip was back. Giving him some time to recuperate, I stood there trying to figure what must have happened but I could not think of anything. There was absolutely nothing that could explain why he had turned a week later with bruises. As the gears of mind turned, I unconsciously moved my hands down his back and instantly withdrew my hand when I saw him flinch. Peering down at his pained expression, I came to the realization that the bruises marring his face might not be the only ones.

"Take your shirt off, Raven." I demanded as his expression changed to a more frightened one. He was going to refuse but even he knew not to do so when I looked like I was going batter someone in an alleyway. With a frustrated sigh, he took his top off revealing multiple cuts and bruises all over his abdomen and back. There were some fading scars, some blotches of blue and purple marring his lightly tanned torso.

"We need to disinfect them so take a shower and I'll do it for you after dinner."

He slightly bobbed his head, still avoiding looking at me. I took that as a cue to leave so he could have some time for himself.

The table was set when I sauntered up to dining table. Dad was already seated going through a book whereas mom was walking around the kitchen in deep thought which most likely involved the broken boy in my room.

"Should we tell his parents?" Mom asked dad to which I replied instead.

"No. Not right now."

She shrugged and left it at that, trusting that I knew what I was doing. From my impression of Mr. and Mrs. Smith, there's no way he would be comfortable with them knowing. I don't think they would like the fact that their son hadn't turned up for a week but that was just me assuming that they didn't know.

Raven came up to the dinner table looking like a side character from "The Walking Dead." The light he held had dimmed to an all time low and it made my heart ache. There were no questions and we ate in a somewhat pregnant silence.

"Thank you." Raven spoke up. "For letting me be here without an explanation."

The rest of our voices merged as we calmly told him that it was not something he needed to thank us for and that he could do this whenever he wanted. He seemed grateful after that and quietly resumed eating.

--

He winced as I bought the cotton bud laced with medicine to his face. He grasped the sheets tightly and let go only when the pain subsided. I kept repeating this process until I had covered his upper body in medicine, worry gnawing at me every time he flinched. We hadn't spoken a word yet and I wanted to ask him the numerous questions that were bubbling in me.

"Who did this?" I asked, lightly pressing the wound on his cheek.

"It doesn't matter."

I controlled the sudden need to punch something and instead applied slightly more force than needed to which he hissed.

"Who did this?" He flinched at my rough tone and I moved my fingers from his face to the bruises near his hip.

The feeling of bile rising up my throat intensified when I traced the cuts, trying to gauge what could cause wounds like these. I must have muttered what I was thinking out loud because Raven answered the question.

"A belt."

More bile. "And who did it?"

"My parents."