Callum couldn't sleep.
He hadn't slept since she left his classroom the day before, her bruised arms hidden under sleeves, her bag clutched tight, her back ramrod straight like it was the only thing holding her up.
He had told her he was there for her. That he cared. That she could talk to him.
But what if she couldn't?
What if she didn't know how?
He had stared at his phone that night for hours, wondering if calling the police would make it worse.
Would they believe him? Would they blame her? Would she deny it? Would she ever speak to him again?
That morning, he came in early. Sat at his desk with a second cup of coffee he didn't need, just to fill the silence. Every time a door opened in the hallway, he looked up. Waiting.
She came in a few minutes before the bell.
Hair tied up. Eyes down. Sleeves longer than usual.
But she smiled at him.
Tight.
Not real.
He returned it, just barely.
And all through class, he watched her with dread gnawing at the edges of his ribs. Pity. Worry. A hundred questions tangling together.
Who would do this to her?
Was it happening at home?
Why hadn't she said anything?
What if she didn't trust anyone?
What if he was the only one paying attention?
God help him, he wanted to fix it. Protect her. Save her. Be the person she turned to. Not just the teacher. Not just the adult in the room. But someone who gave a damn.
Even if it meant burning his career to the ground.
The final bell rang.
Students filed out. He kept his eyes on her as she walked past his desk—her head bowed, fingers tugging the cuffs of her sleeves lower. She didn't say goodbye.
He didn't have the strength to call her name. So he tried to focus on his work.
He sighed deeply after a while. He closed his laptop deciding to just go home after staring blankly at it for a long time.
He looked at her seat. He should've stopped her. He should've said something—anything—before she left the room with that smile that didn't quite reach her eyes.
He unlocked his phone. Scrolled to her name. Hovered his thumb over the call button.
Don't.
She needed space. She'd made that clear.
But what if space wasn't what she needed?
What if she walked home and something happened?
What if that was the last time he saw her?
The screen dimmed.
He locked the phone again and exhaled shakily.
And then—
"Mr. Hayes!"
Callum turned, startled.
Nate.
Running. Gasping. One hand on the door frame, the other pressing against his chest.
"Nate—"
"I—I found her," he panted. "Back… back of the school—behind the gym—"
Callum stood so fast his chair screeched across the floor. "Found who?"
"Lara," Nate gasped, face pale. "She's—she's crying. Her—her clothes are ripped—"
Callum's blood turned to ice.
Nate didn't finish.
He didn't need to.
Callum was already running.
He rounded the gym, his shoes slamming against the pavement, breath hitching in his chest. When he saw her, he stopped cold.
Lara was huddled against the far wall of the building, curled in on herself, knees to her chest. Her arms wrapped tight around them like she was trying to disappear. Her hair was messy and tangled, half-falling from a tie.
Her shirt—torn at the collar, slashed slightly along one shoulder—hung off her frame. One shoe was missing, the other barely hanging on. Her bag was on the ground beside her, its contents spilled: notebooks, a broken pen, the corner of a phone case, a half-crushed pack of gum.
She was sobbing—quiet, heaving sobs that sounded like she was choking on them, trying to keep them hidden. Every now and then, her shoulders would jerk like she was trying to hold herself together, like she didn't want to be seen unraveling.
Callum's chest tightened at the sight. She looked... small. Like she'd been made smaller on purpose. On instinct, he took a step closer.
"Lara," he said, barely above a whisper.
She flinched.
Just a twitch of the shoulders, a recoil so fast it might've been imagined. But Callum saw it. And his stomach twisted.
He paused. Lowered his voice further. "It's me. Mr. Hayes."
Still no response. But another quiet sob escaped her lips—thin and brittle.
Callum's entire body stilled.
"Lara," he said, barely above a whisper.
She didn't look up.
He walked slowly toward her, every step careful, like approaching something wild and wounded.
"Lara, it's me. It's Mr. Hayes."
She still didn't look at him. But her shoulders twitched at the sound of his voice.
Behind him, the sound of wheezing and hurried footsteps caught up.
Nate.
Callum turned as the boy stumbled to a stop, one hand clutching his chest, the other braced against the wall.
"What happened?" Callum asked, voice low, urgent.
Nate shook his head, still trying to catch his breath. "I-I didn't see anything. Just found her like this. I swear. I didn't see who did it."
Callum nodded and turned back to Lara. He crouched down slowly, lowering himself to her level, his hand hovering midair.
He hesitated, afraid even a gentle touch might break her further.
"Lara," he said gently. "I'm going to help you up, okay? Just to get you inside."
His hand reached toward her shoulder, and again she flinched.
This time, unmistakably.
But she didn't move away. She didn't speak. Her eyes remained downcast, lashes wet, fingers curled tight against her sleeves.
Callum's breath hitched. He moved slower, trying to make every motion visible and safe.
"You're safe now. I promise."
He slipped an arm around her, careful not to squeeze too tightly, and gently lifted her.
"Lara," he said gently. "I'm going to help you up, okay? We'll go somewhere safe."
Still no words from her. But she didn't resist when he slipped an arm around her and carefully lifted her into his arms.
She was light. Too light.
Nate knelt to scoop up her bag and the scattered items from the grass, stuffing them hurriedly back inside.
Callum carried her all the way back to the classroom, footsteps heavy, every nerve in his body on fire.
Once inside, he set her down gently on one of the cushioned chairs in the corner. She leaned back, silent, eyes empty. Her fingers trembled in her lap.
Nate hovered, unsure where to stand. He finally settled on the chair beside hers.
"Lara," Callum said softly. "Can you tell us what happened? Who did this to you?"
She stared past them both. Her lips parted.
"They were never this cruel," she whispered.
Callum frowned. "They? The same people from before? The ones who—" He paused, heart pounding as he remembered the bruises on her arms, the way she'd recoiled when he touched her. "The ones who hurt you? Those bruises—was it them?"
At that, Lara went silent again.
Nate turned sharply. "What bruises?"
Neither of them answered him.
Lara slowly looked up, blinking like she'd only just noticed where she was. "I'm okay now," she murmured. Her voice was small. Too small. "Thank you… both of you."
Callum moved toward her. "No. I'll drive you home."
She shook her head. "I can walk. It's fine—"
"You're not walking anywhere." His tone left no room for argument. Then he turned to Nate. "Come with us. Just in case."
Nate hesitated. Looked at Lara, then back at Callum. "I—I can't. My parents are already on the way to pick me up for dinner. I'm really sorry."
Callum nodded, though disappointment sank in his gut.
Nate had seen what he'd seen—he was a witness, a buffer.
And now Callum would be alone with her again.