I woke up in the usual pain and winced as I sat up.

Henry had done as promised and actually sat against my bedroom door on the other side. I heard him still out there, typing on his computer.

With a look at my phone I determined I had slept for two and a half hours. Even if it was just a tiny drop in a massively empty battery, it still felt so much better. 

And worse because it seemed my body had been numbing both my physical pain and my anxiety. I could already feel my heart rate increasing, and there was sweat beginning to bead up on my back. On top of that, every muscle in my core and back was on fire from executing that throw earlier. I hadn't felt it at the moment but now it made it hard to move with any strength.

I opened my door and Henry shuffled to the side. His computer was open on his lap with plain text displayed for some technological purposes I couldn't understand 

“How’re you feeling?” he asked.

I sighed and sat next to him.

“I'm still tired,” I explained. “But I don't think I'm going to be able to get much more sleep.”

He nodded. I heard my mom downstairs now. As far as I knew she hadn't seen Henry propped against my door so she wasn't aware of the situation. That was good 

Henry rubbed his cheek, wincing slightly.

“I'm so sorry about that,” I repeated from earlier.

“It's not entirely your fault,” he said. “I just didn't want you to go to juvie for murdering someone.”

I nodded.

A few moments later I heard the doorbell followed by my mom answering, sounding wary.

I couldn’t make out the words but the voices were older men.

There was only a short conversation before my mom called up the stairs. “Taylor, Henry, can you come here, please?” The tone was wrong though. There was so much more stress than warranted a please or thank you.

I began to head down the stairs, mentally plotting an escape route if it came to that. Out the back door would probably be the easiest, followed by a sprint to the trees where I could break their line of sight and continue toward the highway.

I peaked before stepping out of the cover of the stairwell wall.

Two men in police uniforms were waiting by the front door. My mom was quietly discussing with them but too quietly for me to hear. It definitely wasn't good news.

I slunk up, my breath slowing into long deep ones, priming my blood with oxygen.

All three of them looked up as I stepped down. The men definitely were out for me, based on the furrow of distaste in their brow at the sight of me.

My mom also looked at me, but she was far more concerned and… disappointed. Somehow that felt far worse than anything the director had ever done to me.

“Are you Taylor Ward?” one of the policemen asked me.

I nodded, swallowing.

“We're responding to a report of an assault on a Mr. Jakob Ashby. Would you know anything about that?”

My teeth clenched. Bullies didn't usually go to the police. If anything they got teachers or parents involved.

“Did I… injure him?” I asked.

“Did you?” the officer asked.

Henry stumbled down the last couple steps as he overheard this.

“Self defense,” he cut in. “She was acting in self defense.”

The officers looked between each other.

“He received three broken ribs,” the first explained. “And a concussion.”

“I was there,” Henry explained. “He grabbed my sister from behind and she was just defending herself.”

The officer looked at my mom who was still wide eyed and practically holding back tears.

“Is there any way for you to back this up?” the officer asked.

Henry bit his lip then walked around to the front of me. He looked me up and down, then pointed at the hem of my shirt 

“She's got bruising,” he explained.

I fought the urge to push his hand down, and instead leaned my head to the side so whatever patch of skin he was indicating was visible.

The officers leaned in to take a closer look.

“May I see more under the hem?” he asked.

I reached up to feel where Henry was pointing. There was definitely tenderness from fresh bruising, that was for sure, but how visible it was I wasn't sure.

Even so I stretched the collar of my shirt away from it, revealing where it felt the most tender so they could take a look.

Henry and the officers both winced so there was definitely something significant.

“I'll have to take some photos as evidence,” the officer said.

“Go ahead,” I permissed. My heart was still beating faster than it should and it was taking a lot to keep myself from panicking.

If I were to get into trouble like this, they could hypothetically take me away from the Ward family. And that felt just as terrible as thinking I was going to have to run away. So I was going to do everything in my power to stay here, even if they did want me to show a section of skin not that far from my breast.

The officer took some photos with a small camera and asked me to turn around. I pulled my hair aside to show him the back of my neck, though I didn't feel much soreness or anything there.

I turned around when he was done and waited as the two officers discussed privately.

When they came back they said farewell and gave my mom some contact information and explained they'd probably be in contact again but they'd have to discuss things back at the station before further action was taken.

I let out a relieved breath once they were gone.

My mom turned to Henry and I. “I'm so sorry, Taylor,” she said. “I know I told you not to fight with anybody but I didn't know how bad it was.”

“I didn't mean to hurt him,” I said. “I just thought I was about to die.”

She looked pityingly at me before stepping closer and looking at whatever mark on my upper chest area was damning enough the cops had backed off.

“Take care of yourself, Taylor,” she said.

And then she left us alone.

I decided to take a look for myself and went into the bathroom, turning on the light over the mirror so I could see well.

There were several obvious smudge-like bruises with some resemblance to a hand print across my collar bone and leading up to my neck.

Even I wanted to wince at the sight of it. But more importantly it was evident someone had grabbed me from behind. The thumb print was against my neck rather than my chest so someone either grabbed or choked me at a very awkward angle, or they'd been behind me.

I was sure the bruising wouldn't've been so bad if I hadn't used Jake’s hand to throw him, but the police didn't need to know that.