The Numbers on Her Wrist

9

A/N Song only kinda fits, but its beautiful and one of my favorites! Enjoy this chapter too!

"Welcome to my humble abode," I say, holding the door open as Samuel stumbles in, his hoodie slung over his shoulder. His dark eyes light up at the sight of the large space, the only door inside- my bedroom- closed, but he doesn't ask about it.

"Nice place." He runs a hand over one of the couches, looking at the large window behind my family room. "Nice view," he smirks, pointing to the city's tallest towers just behind the glass. I groan softly as I lift the satchel over my head and set it on the kitchen counter, bumping my left shoulder with the strap.

"Here..." Samuel walks to me, gesturing to my shoulder. "Let me help, okay?" I glance at him, nodding once and turning my back to him. "Uhh, you need to take a seat probably. The couch would be the best spot." He doesn't wait for my answer as he takes my right hand and leads me towards it, "Come on."

I take a seat on the edge of the couch, Samuel standing behind me. "So, how long have you lived here? In New York?" I feel him brush my hair to the side, his fingers lingering for a second as he tucks stray strands behind my ears. "I, um, I've lived here for just over three years. What about you?"

Samuel chuckles and places one hand on on my bicep, instructing me as he places his other hand on the back of my shoulder. "Place your forearm over your stomach and relax." I do as he says. "I've lived here my entire life. I was raised on the north side of Manhattan though, and my dad was a cop there."

I smirk, turning my head to the side a little to keep him in the corner of my eye, "Your dad was a cop?" He chuckles and his hand slides lower, "Was? No. He still is a co-"

I gasp out in agony as he presses his weight backwards, my shoulder popping back into place. "No warning?" I pant, feeling sweat run down my spine and temples, Samuel rubbing my back gently. I almost object at the touch, unused to anyone being close to me, but the tension eases slowly and I close my eyes.

"It's a trick my mom taught me. She would make sure her patients were thinking of something else before she relocating their shoulders or other bones." He steps back and around the couch, taking a seat across from me.

I raise an eyebrow, "So, your parents were both upstanding citizens; a doctor and a cop. How did you become a street fighter?" He leans forward, his forearms on his knees, and chuckles, flipping his hair.

"Well, you'll just have to hang out with me more to find out."

I roll my eyes and stand up slowly, gesturing to his cut eyebrow and the blood that drips from his nose. "Does that hurt much?" He winks at me roguishly, "Not at all... But do you think I could have a band-aid and some type of rag to clean off the blood?"

I nod once and walk to the bathroom, slipping off my shoes at the side of my door.

I retreat into the room, opening the cabinet under the sink and retrieving the small piece of paper with a bandage wrapped inside, and take a grey rag from the closet. I turn on the faucet, squirting a drop of soap onto the rag and then rinsing it under the water. After squeezing out the excess and shutting the water off, I return to my living room.

Samuel is on his feet, his hands clasped behind his back, and is admiring one of my walls. "You can draw?" I walk to where he stands, his eyes still on the black ink that is drawn onto the cream-colored walls, branches from a tree in the centre splitting off into new drawings of people and buildings and animals, all of them lacking color.

I nod. "I can draw."

"It's beautiful," he breathes and I barely hear him. His fingers touch the sketch of a girl, her head bent and drops of rain scattered around her. You cannot see her face, but I am sure he knows it is me as his fingers run over the numbers on her wrist. 564.

"Is this you?"

Another nod.

"She looks so sad."

I swallow and keep my eyes on the wall as he turns, his hand touching my upper arm and slowly sliding to my neck. "I've never let anyone see these before," I whisper, still averting my eyes. Samuel chuckles quietly and his fingers fall away, leaving my skin cold when his warmth disappears. "Well, I am pleased that you shared it with me, Amelia."

I smile at him gently, offering him the rag and band-aid. "Here, clean yourself up. I'll grab you something to drink." He accepts the items and gestures to my bedroom, "Can I use the bathroom?"

"Yeah," I say a little too quickly. "Go ahead." Samuel leaves me to wipe his face. I pull the braid from my hair, my left shoulder still aching as I raise it above my head to stretch. I need to limit the movement for a little while. I open my fridge and take out a gallon of water, setting it on my counter as I take two cups from one of my cabinets; I only have two cups; I have never had the need for more than one, though.

Once I have finished pouring us both water, Samuel returns, the blood wiped from his face and a band-aid stuck over a cut on his forehead. He runs a hair through his hair, flashing me a smile as he accepts the drink and leans across the counter.

"So, Amelia, where did you live before New York? Where's your family?" My chest tightens and images of the orphanage dance in my head, sweat attempting to collect on my palms. "I don't have a family," I answer simply, ignoring the other question. Samuel raises an eyebrow, "Everyone has a family."

"I'm an orphan, Samuel. I do not have a family."

He frowns sadly, "Sorry, I didn't know... Please, Amelia," he smiles kindly, kinder than anyone has ever before. "Call me Sam, you're the only friend I truly have." I let out a short laugh and shake my head, "Me too..." I meet his eyes, revising my decision from earlier in the night. "Call me Amy."

Sam laughs back at me, shaking his head also, "Nah, I prefer Amelia."

I look up at him, his smile making me feel comfortable.

His shirt hangs under his chest, his arms in the air as he laughs again with me. "We might as well be best friends. We both are street fighters with no one else...." The smile disappears, "And we both need a family."

Sam holds out a hand. "Besties?" I smirk and take the hand, shaking it firmly. "As long as you never use that word again." His white teeth show in a grin, taking a sip of his water before replying, "I don't see anything wrong with it."

I roll my eyes and drink my water also.

I have made a friend.

I have found someone to trust with my life.

But can I trust him with my secret?