The irritation clung to his face like a permanent marker on skin. Even though he tried to be gentle with me, his annoyance at this being the second thing he hadn't anticipated today was weighing on him.

  "You good?" I asked not knowing if he would answer.

  "It's...nothing. Just...forget it." The disappointment in his voice subsided, but what followed afterward felt like anger.

  He swung onto his bike and I mirrored his shadow. He handed me one of the helmets he had previously tossed to the side when he was looking for his cash, and placed the other one over his head. After ensuring my own safety, I clasped my arms around his waist. The start of the engine, as he twisted the key in the ignition, felt like his only source of control, the one thing that didn't go wrong, and me being the only thing that felt right. He took off, leaving the memory of the scent of gasoline and diesel behind. The ride to our houses was quiet and tense. Holding onto him, I could feel his body responding to the irritants of his mind, making it unyielding and rigid to the touch.

  In due time, we reached my house. I got off his motorbike, and whilst handing him his helmet I caught sight of the bruises on his body from the beating earlier. They looked different, as if they had gotten worse. I expressed concern,

  "You're hurting bad, aren't you?"

  "It's nothing," he said, a little white lie escaping his mouth.

  I replied whilst looking deep into his penetrating gaze,

  "You always feel the need to put on armor with everyone, but you don't have to do that with me, I see you, Peter, and I'm okay with who you are."

  I stepped in closer and touched his hand as I said,

  "Come inside. There's a first aid kit. I can bandage that up for you. My mom's not home anyway. Peter, let me help you."

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  There was a slight moment of hesitation but it looked like he redirected his thoughts and decided to surrender to the moment because he nodded and said,

  "Okay."

  "Let's get you inside," I said whilst aiding in getting him off of the bike and into my house.

  I had hoped he had felt comforted because my concern was genuine. I opened the door and we made our way to my room and I laid him down on my sofa. I never thought this would be the way I would get a guy in my room, let alone Peter Menace.

  "Let me get the first aid kit." For a brief moment, I walked away before returning with a big white case that contained gauze, antiseptic, and medical tape.

  I came toward him with the case, opened it, and gently took his hand before proceeding to dress his wounds.

  "How do you know so much about this?" he inquired as I cleaned his bruises.

  "My father was a doctor," I answered, but the hurt in my voice was clear.

  "Was?" he continued to pry.

  "He died from a shooting last year, grocery robbery gone bad. It was a cold case. They never found the suspect," I reluctantly held back.

  "Isn't your mom a nurse too?"

  "Yeah, that's how they met. She was new to the dorms, and my dad was already a student there. They just found each other and the rest is history."

  I think he felt pity for me; it's like I started to make sense to him now. I have never been this vulnerable with anyone about my dad before so why was I sitting on the sofa feeling like I was in a session talking to my therapist. I always knew him to be carefree and wild but there was a lot more to him that met the eye. He caressed his hand against my face resulting in tears welling in my eyes, slightly causing a single drop to stream down my face. I continued,

  "Well, he wasn't just a doctor, he was also a certified mechanic. He actually taught me about cars, not to brag but I'm like the Janet Jackson of engineering, rest easy M.J." I chuckled, I had expected him to laugh along with me but he had no reply.

  When he didn't answer, it struck me as odd, but I decided not to dwell on it and say,

  "You know that was supposed to be funny. Dark humor really isn't your thing, huh?"

  "No, it's not that. My mind kind of drifted to someplace I would rather have kept dead and buried."

  "Now who's the comedian?" I jokingly said.

  "Poor choice of words. My bad."

  I finally got that laugh I was searching for.

  The heaviness of the balloon over our heads deflated. Silence slowly crept into the room. There was an unspoken truth lingering in the air that neither of us seemed ready to voice. He looked as if he was about to confess something heavy to me, but instead exhaled slowly and leaned back on the sofa.