When we got there, he let go, but I took his hand again and led him into the bathroom. His face had been battered from the beatings. There was dried blood over him, in his hair as well, and he stood there watching as I inspected every wound. He winced as I probed his ribs, so instead of having him lift his shirt over, I took a firm hold at the top and ripped it. It fell to the floor. My eyes took it all in. His chest and ribs had taken the brunt of the kicks, at least the ones I saw. The tips of my fingers softly grazed over him, and he hissed from the pain.
My eyes caught his. I saw the pain and took a deep breath. Strength surged inside of me. He needed mine so I pointed to the counter and murmured, “Sit.” My voice came out hoarse, and I bit down on my lip. Pain sliced me when he mad
