The Sun And The Stars •completed•

How We Need Another Soul To Cling To

He was six when his Mother helped him set up his book shelves in an unfamiliar room. Her short, dirty blonde hair was disheveled, but she was still smiling. "Goodness, Eli. I never quite realized how many books you have." She remarked, peering into another cardboard box. "I'll let you sort these out now." His Mom kissed his forehead and ruffled his hair, leaving him alone. 

Phoebe watched him from his new doorway, leaning against the frame, squeezing her toy purple bunny rabbit. Eli started to put his books up on his shelves, tiptoeing on the edge of his bed to reach the top ones. Phoebe suddenly sprinted from his doorway, and Eli crinkled his nose up in confusion. She was back just as quickly, holding a blue toy bunny rabbit. 

She held it out to him, still in his doorway. "It's for you." She remarked, and Eli hopped off the bed to take it from her, turning the toy over in his hands. She peered up at him from behind her too long bangs. "They're brother and sister." She informed him. Eli smiled. 

He was eight when he got hit the first time. It was the evening, and his Mom was out shopping. He was slapped swiftly across the cheek for talking back. Eli felt the bruise on his cheekbone, and ran to his room to wait for his Mom to come home. 

His Mom felt across his purple cheekbone with a shivering sigh, tears brimming in her eyes. The way she kissed his forehead and hugged him extra long gave Eli all of his confidence back. He could hear the argument long and far into the night, and that morning, he started to pack the suitcase he had come in. 

Phoebe stood in his doorway and watched him throw clothes into his suitcase. "Why'd you have to tattle?" She asked, cold eyes burning into his. He rolled his eyes and started to choose his favorite books to pack. Phoebe walked in and sat on the edge of his bed, swinging her legs back and forth. "We can still be friends." Eli remarked, feeling bad. 

"But not brother and sister." Her gaze sliced through his heart. That afternoon, Eli's Mom closed his door behind her and sat next to him on the bed. She told him that Mitch was very sorry, and that he would never do anything like it again. Eli tried his best to believe her. 

He was nine when he found his Mom on the couch after school. She was laying down, curled up, shivering. He'd rushed over to her and saw her bruised eye and cut lip. Eli dropped his backpack and ran to the freezer to grab an ice pack. 

He held it to her lip, and started to stroke her hair as she used to do for him. She took the ice pack and pushed his hand away from her hair. "Go to your room, Eli." She said quietly but harshly, eyes red from crying. 

That was the day Eli realized the unspoken rule. That they were to ignore each others pain, and go on pretending. He walked right past her the next time, and the time after that. She never even tried to help him, not once, not after that day. 

He was ten when the bullying started. His quiet demeanor, accompanied by the messy hair, and the bruise or cut that would show up almost weekly, made him a target no bully could ignore. He was too tired, too scared, too everything, to do anything. He took the bullying at school the same way he took it at home. Quietly. 

If Phoebe happened to be around, she would start to scream, shrill and unrelenting, until teachers came or the bullies got scared and walked away. She would help Eli up and help him brush the dirt off of his clothes and face. He wondered why she couldn't do the same at home. He wondered why he couldn't do anything anywhere. 

He was 12 when the teachers noticed. His Principal sat with a concerned look on her face, asking him where he got the stitches that lined a portion of his forehead. He told her he fell down the stairs. His house, of course, didn't have stairs, but they didn't know that.