Pissing in the Bushes

Through everything I said, Craig stared at me, mostly dead-eyed; but, while he did seem anguished, it didn't appear to have been at my withdrawal, which comforted me. "I can't in good conscience get involved with you in a way that could make your situation worse in any way. And I'm really afraid that's already happened, honestly."

He nodded, though his eyes were still clouded with hidden pain.

And then I said it.

"You can't stay with her."

I knew it was a dangerous line to cross, but I'd been told enough about her abuse to know that it was the right answer. "She's sick. In the head. People don't treat other people like she treats you. You're not an animal--not that animals should be treated that way either..." I moved my hand back to his cheek. My heart surged as he placed his own on top of it. "You're a sweet, goofy, intelligent guy who should be cherished, not destroyed."

I searched his face. He had squeezed his eyes shut, and while I couldn't tell if the droplets running down his face were from the shower or his eyes, I could tell he was hurting--warring with himself, fighting a desperate fight for freedom.

He whispered then:

"I know."