I Fell in Love with Hope - Lancali

intermediation, small scars, and treatments that the outside world
can tolerate.
We’ve never spoken, but I know them. I’ve watched them.
They aren’t cruel. They let cruelty consume them. It quickly spits
them back out at the sight of me. I don’t frighten them. They don’t
know me. What frightens them is that, like everyone else, they feel
like they’ve met me before.
My gaze, my silence, my unwillingness to move is deterring enough.
They disperse, running out of the room, almost knocking shelves
over in the process. Their scurrying sends a shivering breath through
Sam as if he’s been holding it since they started on him.
Once they’re out of sight, I kneel down, cast aside his hair, and look
at his wounds. He clings to his stomach, wincing when I go near it.
His lip is split, a swelling pit gathering color on the side of his face.
“Don’t move too much,” I mutter. Sam nods, his tongue poking at his
lip.
The coppery taste makes him frown and I’m almost too relieved that
his biggest discomfort is the bitterness.
I carry him back to his room. We’re roughly the same size, but for the
bravery I lack, I’m stronger than I look. I feel an urge to squeeze him,
to show my relief. Instead, I am tender. I hold him with care, the way
you hold a box or a tray of food.
Sam whispers an apology into my shirt, saying thank you.
I tell him to be quiet.
He is for a few steps.
“Why do they hate me?” he finally asks.
“They don’t hate you,” I promise him.