Battle Wounds

one.

 "How many times is this going to keep happening?"

A male voice pulled Harper Cain from her thoughts. Reluctantly, she looked away from the sun-streaked window to the man standing in the doorway. Doctors and nurses hurried out in the corridor, but she focused her attention on him. Shane Barker. His tired eyes bore into hers, his face creased with worry.

"This can't keep happening, Harper," he repeated, his voice softer this time. Not angry, just tired.

Harper nodded slowly to show that she had been listening. "I know. Sorry."

Was she sorry? No. But she was sad that she caused more problems for Shane. For herself.

Harper turned back to the window where the outside world continued, oblivious to the mess that was her life. It was unfair, and unjust, but that was just how things were for her. And she had come to accept it a long time ago. This was her life. A continuous loop of the same bullshit that tried to chip away at her little by little. But Harper was stronger than that, and the wall she put up protected her from situations like this. From the people that had been nothing but mere passersby in her life. Strangers that promised to help but then only to tear her down.

Shane stepped further into the room and leaned against the wall, carefully watching her. As if she might break at any moment. His frown was evident, a permanent expression whenever Harper was concerned. He took in the bruises on her face, then the stitches gracing her forehead. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay," Harper answered. Perhaps a little too quickly.

Shane sighed and ran a hand down his face. It was pretty clear that he didn't believe her. "You have a concussion, Harper. Nothing about that says that you're okay."

So why are you asking? Harper thought but didn't say it. Instead, she shrugged and turned to face him, avoiding his eyes as she didn't want to see the pity in them. "It's only a few stitches. It's not even that serious." Nothing compared to the other injuries she'd sustained over the years. The worried look remained on his face despite her claims. "I'm fine. Seriously, Shane, you don't have to worry."

He nodded at her answer, ready to say more, but she didn't let him.

"So what happens next?" Harper asked, morbidly curious about where things went from here. The future was and always has been unstable for the sixteen-year-old. Nothing was ever concrete but rather everchanging. And that wasn't necessarily a good thing.

"Well, the Coopers aren't pressing any charges," he explained. "Which, thankfully, won't land you back in juvie."

A sigh of relief escaped her lips as she crossed her arms over her chest. Her stay at the Coopers had been a nightmare from the moment she stepped into that house. Mr. and Mrs. Cooper seemed friendly initially, but the abuse began shortly after her first night. It started slowly, with emotional abuse that gradually became physical. And all that Harper could do was try to survive and avoid their unpredictable temperaments.

Harper put up with a lot in her short life but could only take so much abuse. Everything she did or said ended with some sort of deranged punishment. There was no avoiding it, no matter how hard she tried to. So she just came to bear it. That was until her last night there when something in Harper snapped. Anyone would want to defend themselves in that situation, and that's what she did. She shoved Mr. Cooper back when he approached her, ready to strike. Not hard, but enough to put some distance between them so she could run. That single act enraged him even more, sending him into a spiral. He threw punches while his wife stood idly by. When Harper tried to run, he slammed her head into the edge of the kitchen counter. Hard enough to break the skin. The blood poured from the wound, momentarily stopping the assault against her.