For the last several years, living with Uncle Joseph hasn’t always been easy. I moved out of my dad’s house when I was seven for reasons I do not want to talk about. Let’s just say he is not exactly fit to raise a child. He was not always like that, though. He was a great dad before my mom passed. I feel like her death was my fault. My mom was on her way to get me after I had been in trouble at school. I’ll never forgive myself for that. If I hadn’t tried to steal my teacher’s phone then I never would have gotten in trouble and my mom would’ve never been called and she never would have gotten hit by that drunk driver. It took a few years before everyone started seeing what was happening to me. By high school I thought I had moved passed my issues from my past. Angry with my life, I slouch in my chair, dosing off.  I mumble, “It’s my fault.”
“Harrison, that’s not your fault,” my best friend, Isabelle says.
“Yes, it is. Please stop telling me it’s not.” I yell as though it just happened.  “I’ve been over it a thousand times in my head. It’s my fault she died!”  I yell as though it just happened.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Go on,” She says throwing her hands up in surrender. She asked how I ended up here with my Uncle and cousin so I was explaining everything.
“Anyway, that’s why I live here, with my Uncle”. The weight of the memory pulls me back.
My mind wanders to the day that sealed my fate of living with my Uncle.
Someone at school had finally noticed the bruises. I would’ve never told a soul. I loved my father, even after everything that happened. I just wanted to be with him. I realized when I got older that leaving was for the best. If I would have stayed there I would have ended up dead.
“Hey, I’ve been wondering how’d you get that scar on your cheek?” Isabelle asked breaking me from my thoughts. 
“Oh that,” I say, running my hand over my left cheek, “It’s nothing, really.”
I don’t think she believed me, but I guess she just decided to brush it off. Thank God, for that.
I’ll never forget the feeling of the broken beer bottle as it gashed my face nor the overwhelming sense of fear I had received as he shattered the bottle against the wall. “It’s your fault. It’s your fault she’s dead!” he screamed. He moved the bottle back and forth, in front of my face as I laid down on the ground in fear. He had already beaten me. My body was black and blue as bruises covered me from head to toe. I trembled in fear as he cut my face with the bottle. The sting was immediate. That was not the worst part though. The worst part was seeing my father stand above me, with so much rage in his eyes, purposely hurting me. No compassion in his eyes. To see he no longer loved me.
“Harrison, where did you drift off to?” Isabelle and Mike ask.
“Sorry guys. I’m feeling a little sick after lunch.  I’m going home,” I say with a shallow breath.

“Oh Harrison, I’m sorry if I upset you. You just seem so withdrawn lately.”  Isabelle cried
“I told you to give him space!” Mike shouted
Mike and I have been close friends and he knows a lot about me but not everything. He’s kind of friend who does not pressure you to talk about things that are bothering you, but when you do he’s always there to listen. Uncle Joseph and Mike’s dad grew up together. They were basically family. The good kind. Mike was the first person I met when I moved here. He is a couple of years older than me but he is cool. He moved out here to go to college so he stays with us. It is like having an older brother. Mike helps me with everything.
“So are you guys ready for your Psychology final?” Mike asked trying to change the subject.
“Oh, gosh. No! Don’t even get started on that. I’ve been failing that class all year.” Isabelle replies.
“Really? The lowest grade you’ve ever gotten on anything is 95.” Mike said shocked.
“Well,” I interject. “She’s got this theory that the teacher absolutely hates her.”
“Probably does,” Mike teases.
“What?” Isabelle says, gasping.
“Oh, yeah.” I join Mike. You remember that day you were absent? All Mr. Riley could talk about was how much he can’t stand you!” It is always so much fun messing with her.
“Oh my Gosh!!! I can’t believe it!! I didn’t think he actually hated me!!” Isabelle says almost crying.
“Calm down Isabelle, We’re just teasing you,” Mike says laughing.
“You guys are the WORST!! I actually thought he hated me!”
“Seriously, Isabelle? You’re probably his favorite student,” I remind her. “I mean, Yeah you’re failing but he can see you’re trying and that’s all any teacher really wants. Plus, he said you could do a project for your final instead of taking the test, he’s not letting anyone else do that.”
“That’s true,” she admits. 
“Let’s go get some pizza, my trea,.” Mike laughs.
“Okay! Thanks,” Isabelle cheers.
“I’m in,” I agree.
“Alright then, let’s go!” Mikes says.
As we drive to the Pizza Palace, Mike tells us about how college is going, and we mess with Isabelle some more. When we arrive we all go in and sit in the first booth, Isabelle and I on one side, Mike across from us.
We start up a game of truth or dare.
“No way,” Isabelle respond, shocked from the confession I just made.
“I swear! I was a bad little kid,” I laugh
“Wait.. Wait. You actually threw sand in kids face at recess?” Mike asked unable to control his laughter.
“He made me mad” I yell.
“He told you that you needed to tie your shoe!” Isabelle shouts.
“Maybe I didn’t want to know” I laugh.
“I’ll be right back, I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” Isabelle says, laughing.
After making sure she is out of sight, I turn to Mike and take a deep breath.  “Look, as long as we’re being honest I want to tell you about how I got the scar on my cheek but you have to promise not to tell Isabelle,” I say seriously.
“Okay, dude. You got it.” He replies.
“When I was a child, my mom died.” I say trying to hold back the tears. “And my father blamed me. He started drinking all the time, and he hit me.”
“You don’t have to tell me.” Mike says.
“No, it’s okay. I need to talk about it. He hit me and told me I was stupid. It was mental, emotional and physical abuse. One night he came home madder than ever. He broke his beer bottle on the wall and sliced me with it. That night was the worst night but it was also my last night with him. I don’t know who called CPS but someone did. Someone saved me. I’d do anything to know who that person was. If it wasn’t for them I would’ve never moved in with Uncle Joseph and I would’ve never met you or Isabelle.” I can’t hold back my tears. 
Chapter 1
For the last several years, living with Uncle Joseph hasn’t always been easy. I moved out of my dad’s house when I was seven for reasons I do not want to talk about. Let’s just say he is not exactly fit to raise a child. He was not always like that, though. He was a great dad before my mom passed. I feel like her death was my fault. My mom was on her way to get me after I had been in trouble at school. I’ll never forgive myself for that. If I hadn’t tried to steal my teacher’s phone then I never would have gotten in trouble and my mom would’ve never been called and she never would have gotten hit by that drunk driver. It took a few years before everyone started seeing what was happening to me. By high school I thought I had moved passed my issues from my past. Angry with my life, I slouch in my chair, dosing off.  I mumble, “It’s my fault.”
“Harrison, that’s not your fault,” my best friend, Isabelle says.
“Yes, it is. Please stop telling me it’s not.” I yell as though it just happened.  “I’ve been over it a thousand times in my head. It’s my fault she died!”  I yell as though it just happened.
“Okay, okay, I’m sorry. Go on,” She says throwing her hands up in surrender. She asked how I ended up here with my Uncle and cousin so I was explaining everything.
“Anyway, that’s why I live here, with my Uncle”. The weight of the memory pulls me back.
My mind wanders to the day that sealed my fate of living with my Uncle.
Someone at school had finally noticed the bruises. I would’ve never told a soul. I loved my father, even after everything that happened. I just wanted to be with him. I realized when I got older that leaving was for the best. If I would have stayed there I would have ended up dead.
“Hey, I’ve been wondering how’d you get that scar on your cheek?” Isabelle asked breaking me from my thoughts. 
“Oh that,” I say, running my hand over my left cheek, “It’s nothing, really.”
I don’t think she believed me, but I guess she just decided to brush it off. Thank God, for that.
I’ll never forget the feeling of the broken beer bottle as it gashed my face nor the overwhelming sense of fear I had received as he shattered the bottle against the wall. “It’s your fault. It’s your fault she’s dead!” he screamed. He moved the bottle back and forth, in front of my face as I laid down on the ground in fear. He had already beaten me. My body was black and blue as bruises covered me from head to toe. I trembled in fear as he cut my face with the bottle. The sting was immediate. That was not the worst part though. The worst part was seeing my father stand above me, with so much rage in his eyes, purposely hurting me. No compassion in his eyes. To see he no longer loved me.
“Harrison, where did you drift off to?” Isabelle and Mike ask.
“Sorry guys. I’m feeling a little sick after lunch.  I’m going home,” I say with a shallow breath.

“Oh Harrison, I’m sorry if I upset you. You just seem so withdrawn lately.”  Isabelle cried
“I told you to give him space!” Mike shouted
Mike and I have been close friends and he knows a lot about me but not everything. He’s kind of friend who does not pressure you to talk about things that are bothering you, but when you do he’s always there to listen. Uncle Joseph and Mike’s dad grew up together. They were basically family. The good kind. Mike was the first person I met when I moved here. He is a couple of years older than me but he is cool. He moved out here to go to college so he stays with us. It is like having an older brother. Mike helps me with everything.
“So are you guys ready for your Psychology final?” Mike asked trying to change the subject.
“Oh, gosh. No! Don’t even get started on that. I’ve been failing that class all year.” Isabelle replies.
“Really? The lowest grade you’ve ever gotten on anything is 95.” Mike said shocked.
“Well,” I interject. “She’s got this theory that the teacher absolutely hates her.”
“Probably does,” Mike teases.
“What?” Isabelle says, gasping.
“Oh, yeah.” I join Mike. You remember that day you were absent? All Mr. Riley could talk about was how much he can’t stand you!” It is always so much fun messing with her.
“Oh my Gosh!!! I can’t believe it!! I didn’t think he actually hated me!!” Isabelle says almost crying.
“Calm down Isabelle, We’re just teasing you,” Mike says laughing.
“You guys are the WORST!! I actually thought he hated me!”
“Seriously, Isabelle? You’re probably his favorite student,” I remind her. “I mean, Yeah you’re failing but he can see you’re trying and that’s all any teacher really wants. Plus, he said you could do a project for your final instead of taking the test, he’s not letting anyone else do that.”
“That’s true,” she admits. 
“Let’s go get some pizza, my trea,.” Mike laughs.
“Okay! Thanks,” Isabelle cheers.
“I’m in,” I agree.
“Alright then, let’s go!” Mikes says.
As we drive to the Pizza Palace, Mike tells us about how college is going, and we mess with Isabelle some more. When we arrive we all go in and sit in the first booth, Isabelle and I on one side, Mike across from us.
We start up a game of truth or dare.
“No way,” Isabelle respond, shocked from the confession I just made.
“I swear! I was a bad little kid,” I laugh
“Wait.. Wait. You actually threw sand in kids face at recess?” Mike asked unable to control his laughter.
“He made me mad” I yell.
“He told you that you needed to tie your shoe!” Isabelle shouts.
“Maybe I didn’t want to know” I laugh.
“I’ll be right back, I’m gonna go to the bathroom.” Isabelle says, laughing.
After making sure she is out of sight, I turn to Mike and take a deep breath.  “Look, as long as we’re being honest I want to tell you about how I got the scar on my cheek but you have to promise not to tell Isabelle,” I say seriously.
“Okay, dude. You got it.” He replies.
“When I was a child, my mom died.” I say trying to hold back the tears. “And my father blamed me. He started drinking all the time, and he hit me.”
“You don’t have to tell me.” Mike says.
“No, it’s okay. I need to talk about it. He hit me and told me I was stupid. It was mental, emotional and physical abuse. One night he came home madder than ever. He broke his beer bottle on the wall and sliced me with it. That night was the worst night but it was also my last night with him. I don’t know who called CPS but someone did. Someone saved me. I’d do anything to know who that person was. If it wasn’t for them I would’ve never moved in with Uncle Joseph and I would’ve never met you or Isabelle.” I can’t hold back my tears.