I dragged Huxley to my room. Where I forced him into my bed, and held him throughout the night. He cried some more, and as someone who has had countless of nightmares waking up to the painful feeling of Huxley gripping onto my arms and begging me not to let them hurt his eyes again was gut wrenching. I had to sneak of throw up because I just couldn't stomach what I was seeing.
He had tears staining his pale cheeks throughout the entire night, and I could not sleep. I kept waking up everytime Huxley sniffled or pleaded. His pleas always sounded like they lacked hope. Like he knew his beggings would get him nowhere.
I may not be a therapist, but my own suffering has made me a sort of expect. Huxley is facing abuse, and I hate it. I hate it so much. There was no one there to help when I w
