“No—no!” he as good as roared, losing his cool completely as he held up a hand and battled to control his temper. Something I was all too familiar with. “Don’t give me that shit. This isn’t the first time I’ve seen her with marks. What’s happening to her?” Leaning back on my stool, I studied the lad who had injected himself into my sister’s life—and potentially all of our lives. He was standing in front of me, asking for the answers I couldn’t give. The helpless tone in his voice struck a chord with me. Because I knew that tone. I knew that desperation. I felt it daily.
