CHAPTER 5

(Emery's pov)

The shrill sound of my alarm clock shattered the morning silence, pulling me from my uneasy slumber. I groaned as I slowly forced myself out of bed, my body aching with every movement. The painful bruises from the night before served as cruel reminders of my grim reality.

Dragging myself to the bathroom, I couldn't help but grimace when I caught sight of my reflection in the mirror. My face bore the unmistakable mark of a large bruise, a vivid testament to the cruel slap my father had delivered. As I inspected my body further, I noticed more bruises on my ribs, legs, and arms, each one a painful testament to the relentless abuse I endured.

With great care, I applied ointment to my wounds, wincing as I tended to each one. I decided to wear a loose hoodie and soft joggers, choosing comfort over style to avoid aggravating my injuries with scratchy material.

After my morning routine, I grabbed my phone from the bedside table and began my descent down the stairs. I moved as quietly as possible, mindful not to awaken the source of my torment. There, in the dimly lit living room, my father lay passed out on the floor. Deciding to forgo breakfast, I grabbed my school bag, which had been carelessly discarded the night before, grateful that there were no assignments from the previous day to complete.

Being in my final year of high school, I knew that I couldn't afford to miss a day of school, no matter the pain I was currently enduring. With a heavy heart and a body weighed down by both physical and emotional pain, I left my home and made my way to school, my head bowed as I tried to avoid any curious or judgmental gazes.

However, before I could reach my classroom, I was stopped in my tracks by the sight of Ezra, whose usual cheerful smile was notably absent. Instead, Ezra's expression was one of concern, and she seemed preoccupied, likely because she hadn't received a reply to her message from me the previous night or that morning.

As I stopped in my tracks, Ezra's eyes scanned my face, searching for a response. I did my best to conceal the bruise on my face, having applied a bit of makeup in a hurried attempt to hide the evidence of my father's cruelty. I didn't want Ezra to worry, especially considering that deep down, I still loved my father and understood that his behavior was driven by grief over my mother's death.

However, Ezra, ever perceptive, noticed the subtle signs of my distress. With a frown on her face, she reached out and gently grasped my chin, turning my face toward her to get a better look. Concern laced her voice as she asked, "Emery, what happened to your face?"

My mind raced, torn between coming up with a plausible lie and the fear of revealing too much. I quickly conjured an explanation and stammered, "I, uh, I fell down the stairs last night. It's nothing serious, just a bruise." I hoped my words would alleviate Ezra's concern.

Ezra, not wanting to press further, decided to accept my explanation. She didn't want to pry into my personal life if I wasn't ready to share. Her gentle nature shone through as she nodded, and a hint of understanding crossed her eyes. "Alright, Emery," she replied softly, "just take care of yourself."

I felt a mix of emotions at that moment. Relief washed over me that I had successfully concealed the truth from Ezra, but I also felt a strange pang of guilt for keeping my suffering hidden. My love for my father, even amidst the abuse, clouded my judgment, making me willing to protect the man who had once been a loving parent.

Ezra, ever caring, remembered why she had stopped me in the first place. She asked about the unresponded message she had sent the night before. My mind raced as I fumbled to explain, my cute but confused frown betraying my embarrassment. I retrieved my phone from my pocket and checked it, only to find a simple "hi" from an unknown number.

A blush crept up my cheeks as I admitted, "I'm sorry, Ezra. I was already asleep when your message came in."

Ezra's response was reassuring, her lips curving into a warm smile as she assured me that she wasn't upset. In fact, she admitted, "I was just worried that maybe you didn't want to talk to me."

I couldn't help but smile back, my heart fluttering at Ezra's words. I looked down, the blush deepening, and softly mumbled an apology. In that moment, I decided to save Ezra's number, ensuring I wouldn't forget to do so later.

As we continued our journey into the school building together, I noticed Ezra's friends already seated, waiting for her. They greeted me with friendly smiles, and Jade, in particular, beamed at me with genuine warmth. I returned their greetings with a shy smile and a wave, my blush persisting as I felt welcomed into their circle.

I eventually found my way to my seat, and when I looked back in Ezra's direction, I found Ezra gazing at me with a big, affectionate smile on her face. The warmth in her eyes sent a rush of happiness through me, and I quickly turned back to face the front of the classroom as our first lesson began.

Despite the lingering pain in my body and the secrets I carried, I couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope. In the presence of Ezra and her friends, I had found a refuge from my troubled home life, a place where kindness and acceptance seemed to shine brighter than the shadows that haunted me.

As the teacher started the lesson, my focus shifted to my studies, but I couldn't shake the feeling that, in Ezra, I had found someone who genuinely cared. The unspoken words and concealed scars between us seemed like a heavy burden, but for the first time in a long while, I dared to hope that I might find solace and understanding in the friendship that was beginning to blossom.