The Loner and the Prep (bxb)

Chapter Thirty

Elijah P.O.V

For a moment, I wasn't sure if I had heard Watson correctly or not. There was something about hearing the words 'report abuse' that didn't seem real to me. He wanted to report someone? I almost wanted to ask him if he was joking, a part of me was hoping he was joking, but the serious look on his face proved that this was no joke, which made it all the more terrifying.

Abuse is usually something you don't have to experience yourself. You see all the ads or posters about it, but that's the extent of your exposure. At least, that's the extent for most people, which brought me back to Watson's question. Who do you go to? I wasn't entirely sure either, but I didn't want to leave him with that kind of answer.

If the type of abuse he wanted to report was the kind I thought it was, I didn't want him to go home without an answer. I didn't want him to go home at all. Before I jumped to that conclusion, I had to ask him a potentially stupid question.

"Are you being abused?" I didn't intend for it to be that blunt, but there were only a few ways I could ask that type of question. Watson paused, looking around sharply, as if to make sure that no one was around, which no one was, before sighing. He gave a slight nod before looking away from me as if he was ashamed for having to admit it.

I wanted to tell him that it would be okay, that everything was going to be fine, but I didn't know that for sure. I didn't know anything about his situation. Who knows how long he's been dealing with the abuse, how used to it he's become. In a way, none of that mattered because regardless of how long he was being abused.

But . . . why did he tell me? That was another slightly less important question. I was happy that he was reaching out, but why did he reach out to me? It wasn't that the two of us were particularly close, as in the past I haven't been the nicest to him either, but there were definitely better people to turn to, right? I would almost recommend my sister, but I didn't want her to have anything to do with an abuse situation. And since Watson came to me, he was probably thinking the same thing.

I eyed the school hallway, realizing that this was a horrible place to be having this kind of discussion. Too many people could overhear the conversation. I couldn't speak for Watson, but I wouldn't feel comfortable mentioning it here, in the middle of a school hallway.

"I don't have an answer now, but," I paused. I didn't want to send him home, not if he is being abused. I would have to ask who was abusing him later since that would answer whether the abuse was at home or elsewhere, but at the moment, sending him anywhere alone didn't sit right with me. "Come to my house, and we can look into it a bit?" That was the best I could think of at the moment. I could only hope that he would agree to come with me, let me help him now that's he's relied on me a bit.

Watson seemed hesitant like he wasn't sure if he wanted to come with me or not. He pondered over it wordlessly for a couple of seconds before ultimately agreeing with another slight nod. I was filled with a sense of relief, knowing he wouldn't be heading straight home, where I was assuming the abuse was taking place.

"Come on then," I gestured towards the doors, where outside, the car was waiting for me. Luckily for me, I wouldn't have to explain anything to Evelyn, at least not yet. I would eventually have to explain why I brought Watson home when up to now, we haven't hung out with each other at all. I could worry about that later since, right now, all that mattered was helping Watson with his abusive situation.

In many ways, I felt like I was way over my head since I wasn't likely going to be any form of help since I didn't know much about what to do either. I didn't want to let Watson down, or worse, let him continue to be abused.

I had just stood by when he was getting bullied like everyone else, but this time, I have a chance to make it up to him. An opportunity to help him out of the situation he is in, a chance to protect him.

Watson followed me outside to where a shiny, black car was waiting along the curve. The driver said nothing as I walked up with someone new since I rarely brought people home with me for any reason. I'm sure he was mentally questioning who the stranger getting into the car was, but he kept his questions to himself. It was because of the driver that I wasn't going to be asking any abuse-related questions in the car.

Not going to lie; it was awkward at first. Because the two of us weren't particularly close, we didn't have many chances at starting a decent conversation. That didn't stop me from trying, though. I wanted to take his mind off of the abuse for a minute, even if it was through the use of cringy friendship starting questions.

"So, um, what's your favorite color?"

The silence was overbearing. Watson paused, looking at me like I was a weirdo before bursting into laughter. I don't know what he had found funny, but seeing him laugh made me want to laugh too, so I did. The entire time we were laughing, I couldn't help but think that when he was happily laughing, that he looked . . . nice.

Once his laughing calmed down, he gave a solid answer. "I think my favorite color is green," The conversation only picked up from there. We managed to avoid talking about our families or home, sticking to safe topics like personality or opinions. I found out his favorite animal, what he liked to eat, what he wanted to be when he grew up, and he found out a lot about me. Heck, in a way, I discovered stuff about me that I hadn't realized before. It was nice. I didn't want the conversation to end, to see the smile that had formed on his face to disappear. I wanted him to stay happy since I think this was one of the few times I had ever seen him smile.

For some reason, I wanted that smile to stay . . . and I wanted to be the reason that it did.

A/N:

told you I'd make it happen.