Niall's POV:

I woke up in the morning to sunlight streaming in through the light white curtains. Scarlette was still pressed against me, sound asleep. For once she didn't look troubled. She simply looked peaceful.

What would happen to her next? No parents? On the run from the police? She had no money, nowhere to go. I couldn't let her go back to that awful man, who should be arrested. What could I do?

And she was only seventeen. Not much younger than I, but still. Under eighteen. Under eighteen means you still need someone there for you. You can't be alone in the world, like she was trying to be.

And then there were her wrists. I ran my thumb gently back and fourth over her scars. There were ones that were clearly very recent. Others that signaled years of suffering.

It was all so sick. She was so pure, beautiful, helpless, and yet she was forced to look after herself all the time. I was surprised at her strong spirit. Any other girl would have killed themselves.

It was heartbreaking, the way her life was. And to think, so many others suffering.

I sighed, closing my eyes and wrapping my hand around her wrist, as though the simple action would mend her scars. Even though I knew it wouldn't.

Notes

getting better? :) please comment and rate :)