I let out a muffled scream, the scream concealed between my teeth.

Peter rushed to my side, afraid.  "What's going on?" 

"S-Sam," I stuttered.

Peter's eyes grew in realization.

"I'll call the ambulance," Peter said, whipping out his cellphone.

"No, no," I grasped Peter's hand.  "Don't." 

Peter looked at me in confusion.  "What?  He's hurt, Charlotte!"

"Yea, but these are torture wounds.  Like mine."  I whispered, taking a closer look at Sam.

His eye was black, his face cut, sweaty and bruised.  His clothes were ripped, his shirt held together by a thread.  He was barely conscious, whispering words of nothing.

"Then let's call the hospital!"  Peter told me, his eyes hovering on Sam.

"No, take him someplace else," I begged.

He looked like he wanted to call, but I knew he would listen to me.

"He's not going to do well there.  I've- I've known him for a pretty long time.  Peter, he was my best friend before my parents died," I admitted.

Surprise erupted on Peter's face.  

"Take his legs," Peter said gruffly, looping his arms around Sam's torso.

He was obviously a little angry.

Or maybe jealous?

Just maybe.

I hooked Sam's legs into my arms, following Peter to his car.

Sam weighed almost nothing.

Peter laid him in the backseat of his car, motioning me to get into the car.  I heard him load the bicycle in the back of his car.

Peter pressed on the gas, and the car jerked forward.

I shivered from the cold and from the fright.

Sam.

Sam.

Sam.

Sam's not dead.

He's not.

He's not dead.

Ok, but why did they say he was dead?

Sam's alive.  

He's alive.  Like alive, alive.

I turned in my seat to take a look at Sam.

Sam fell silent from his small mutterings.  

"I think he's unconscious."  I whispered.

Peter stopped at a small building.

"Ok, there's a small room up there, I used to room with Eli.  Eli's on vacation right now, so he's not there.  I think we have a first aid kit up there," Peter said, lifting Sam.

I grabbed his legs, and slowly, inch by inch, we made it up the staircase.

It was a small apartment, littered with clothes and posters, likely from Eli.  Peter laid him on the bed, and started rummaging in the bathroom for a first aid kit.

Peter rushed to Sam, holding a tube of rubbing alcohol, bandages and some ointment.

Peter started to mutter under his breath.  "I'm wrapped up in serious things here.  Charlotte, and now Sam?" 

I felt my cheeks redden with anger.  "Then leave," I told him.

Peter looked at me in surprise.  "Charlotte, I didn't mean it like that."

I rolled my eyes.

Peter went back to Sam, applying this and that.

"Plus, where did you learn how to do this stuff," I asked him.

"I'm the son of a police officer.  I was forced to go to classes like this."  Peter answered.

"And what were you doing out, late at night?" I said, sitting on the corner of the bed, touching Sam's damp hair.

"I-... I was looking for you.  It didn't feel right to let you go to the shelter- wait- Why weren't you at the shelter?"  he asked, his eyes swirling with confusion.

"I wanted to go to Central Park," I lied.  

"You're so dumb," Peter muttered.

My lips curled into a small grin.  "I know I am," 

"Ok, Sam's- for the most part, cleaned up.   We can leave him to rest." Peter said, walking over to the couch.  

He pulled off some pillows and revealed a small sofa bed.  "Here, we can sleep here.  It's late.  I've contacted my parents and said I'm staying at Eli's."

We?  Like as in sharing a bed?

My arms started to jitter, my fingers curling and uncurling.

Peter seemed to notice.  "I'll sleep on the ground tonight," he said.

"No, I will," I argued.

Peter had already made himself a small layout on the ground.  "Night,"

I groaned, flopping onto the sofa bed.

"Since I'm sleeping on the floor, I get the sheets," I heard Peter laugh.

I smiled to myself, and curled myself up in a ball.

Who cares if I didn't get sheets? 

I had my thoughts to comfort me.

Or to haunt me.

"Charlotte, was Sam really your friend?" Peter asked quietly, after a few moments of silence.

"Yea," I said, peeking at him. 

His eyes were closed, but yet he was still talking to me.

"Where was he when your parents died?" he asked me.

"He- he abandoned me."  I told him.

"That little-" Peter started.

"We were thirteen."  I told him.

Peter stayed silent.

"Still, he didn't do anything?  Call someone, invite you in?" Peter asked me a little louder.

"No," I said hesitantly.

We both stayed quiet for a minute.

"I'm here Charlotte." Peter whispered.  "I'm here for you.  And even if we don't stay friends, at least I'm here for you now." 

"Friends?" I asked.

"Yea, we're friends,"   Peter said.  "Right?"

"Right."  I said.

We both stayed in silence till the sun rose.

Maybe we even slept a little.

Peter had to go to school the next day.

I would probably skip.  No one cared if I skipped.

But my thoughts were jumbled.  Jumbled with the past events, the future events and the present events.  

Like how I had found Sam again.

Like how Peter had saved me.

Like how Peter had stayed with me.

And how Peter had healed me.

I didn't want to admit it, but he's done more for me than anyone could ever have done.

"Help-- Someone help," 

I sat up frantically in my bed, to find Sam sitting up.  Peter's soft snores were still continuing.

The red lights on the small clock shined a small, "6:31 am." 

I shook Peter awake, before rushing over to Sam.

"Cha-Charlotte?" Sam whispered, his lip bruised and cut.

I nodded, sitting on the bed.

"W-where am- they said you were dead!"  Sam said hoarsely.

By then, Peter had been fully awaken.  

"Sam, calm down.  You're in my-" Peter started.

"Who the hell are you?"  Sam asked, looking over at me, fear evident in his eyes.

"He's my friend," I told him.  "And no, I'm not dead.  Hell, I thought you were dead.  Everyone thought you were dead!" 

"My parents."  Sam stated, a fearful look in his eyes.

"Your parents are in Brazil.  They left after you 'died.'"  Peter told him gently.

"No, my parents.  They did this."

My mouth formed an "o."

"Your parents?" Peter managed to say.

Sam nodded, before falling back into the bed. His hair was overgrown, a small stubble appearing.

"I tried Charlotte. I tried to get more money for you and buy a house for you-" Sam started.

My eyes widened, and I put a finger to Sam's lips. "It's ok, Sam. Really."

A single tear traveled down Sam's cheeks.

The three of us stayed there for a moment.

"I'll leave you guys here for a second. I have to go to school. My parents will kill me if they find out I skipped." Peter told us awkwardly, before getting up and stepping into the small bathroom.

In a few moments, Peter had stepped out of the flat. He had assured us that Eli would be back in a week.

When we were a little skeptical, he had called Eli to let him know.

Peter had left a thick book called "Fish in a Tree." I opened it, seeing a sticker that said, "5th grade reading level."

I felt a little let down. This was a thick book and 11 year olds were reading it?

Anyway, I opened the book, and tried to read the first page.

Tried.

My mind kept switching over to Sam, who was mumbling nothings in his sleep.

Why was he so...

I shouldn't care.

But yet, I had forgiven him a while back. Which meant I should still care for him.

Did I?

And he thought I was dead.

While I thought he was the one who was dead.

He had also given me 2000 dollars. Which I had stupidly lost.

Sam started to move slightly, about a rough 30 minutes later.

I averted my eyes, not wanting be caught staring.

"Charlotte-" Sam called.

I looked at his face. "What,"

"I-I'm sorry." Sam sobbed.

Boy, his parents really did something to him. I didn't know what he had gone through, but like.. woah.

He was crying.

I tried to compose myself. "Why?"

"I wasn't there for you. I could have invited you in. And there, I let my parents take over your parent's law firm. Our family's been living in total luxury, while- you- you're on the streets, sleeping on concrete floors." Sam rambled.

I shushed him, standing up and lying down on the couch.

"I forgive you Sam. I forgive you." I heard my own words tumble out of my cracked lips.

"I forgive you Sam, I forgive you."

My eyes shot open, despite the stinging and blurriness of my tears.

She forgave me?

Sure , I knew that a thirteen year old couldn't do much, but we had been together for years on end. And I had abandoned that. I ignored her frantic knocks on my door, ignored her at her last days of school, never visited her, even though she gave me her temporary address.

And Charlotte. She was not the one to always forgive. She was hard-headed. Stubborn. But she forgave me.

It probably was the money.

I pretended to sleep. I tried, yes, but I could see Char looking over at me, an unreadable expression plastered onto her face.

She looked better than the last time I saw her.

There were traces of cuts and bruises on her face, but there was a glow. A small glow in her eyes, instead of the dull blue it used to be.

I haven't met Peter for a long time, but I can already sense that he's been taking care of her.

And it's something I'm ok with.
I'm ok with him taking the place I should have taken.

The ride to school was exhausting to say the very least. I had stayed awake most of the night, my thoughts flickering between Charlotte and... Sam?
I knew Charlotte had a past. She had told me about it.

These past few weeks, we've.. bonded I guess. We've talked more.

And I've seen a different part of Charlotte.

That angry, stubborn Charlotte is just a coverup. A wall.

The real Charlotte is suffering. And slowly and slowly, it's becoming easier to see that. And I know Charlotte knows it.

Charlotte isn't stubborn. Well maybe she is.

But she sure isn't angry and cold as she poses to be. She likes having fun. When I saw the glee in her eyes when I handed her the bike. And I see the happiness when I start to teach her stuff from school. Or even in class. She tries to hate school, but she really can't.

She makes me laugh. She makes me smile. She makes me feel...

Good?

I feel like I'm protecting her. Like she's the one piece of treasure someone's trying to take and I'm the one protecting her.

She never told me about Sam before I met him.

I felt anger towards him. But seeing him in the same state I had seen when I had saved Charlotte melted my heart just a little bit. I felt sorry for him.

At school, I couldn't focus at all. I sat with the footballers again, missing Eli.

I used to play a little bit of football, but I quit when I saw Trevor push around some girls like they were nothing.

I remember when Charlotte stood up to Trevor. It kind of made me laugh a little.

She wasn't that short, but she had a small spirit. She didn't have much motivation. Which made me a little scared for the times I left her alone.

The possibilities.

I'm not saying Char's crazy or anything. But she's still not in the right state, I think.

When I came to Eli's, I was a little surprised about what I saw.

Charlotte was reading, her eyebrows furrowed. Sam was looking at her, but averted his eyes when he spotted me.

He knows his boundaries. Good.

Peter, you dumbass. She's not yours.

I pushed my annoying thoughts out of my brain. "Char, is the book good?"
"Yea," she replied, putting it down. "It's good."
I sat down next to Charlotte.

"You didn't have to give me a 5th grader book. I stopped schooling in the freaking 7th grade, not the 3rd grade." she glared at me.

I frowned. "It's a good book."

She rolled her eyes.

But I knew she liked the book.

And as if Charlotte could read my mind, she glared at me.