The first time I really saw her—really saw her—she was sitting cross-legged on the living room rug, braiding yarn into one of those friendship bracelets. She was fourteen, I think. Kaden's kid sister. Too quiet most of the time, too curious the rest.
She looked up when I walked in with Kaden, eyes wide and watchful, like she was trying to figure out if we were going to laugh or break something. Or both.
I nodded. She nodded back. That was it.
For a while.
But the thing about crashing at someone's house as often as I did is… you start noticing things. Small things. Like how Cara always kept a book tucked under her pillow. How she hummed under her breath when she was nervous. How she never said much at the dinner table, but always listened. Not just heard—listened. Like she was collecting people's stories and stitching them into her own.
I didn't mean to pay attention. I had enough on my plate.
But there were days when I'd show up with a fresh bruise or stiff ribs, and she'd glance at me like she knew. Like she recognized pain in other people, even if she didn't have the words for it yet. I guess that's what startled me. She saw through people in a way most adults couldn't.
One night, I found her in the kitchen at two in the morning, pouring cereal with headphones on. She jumped when she saw me, nearly dropped the bowl. Then she laughed.
I hadn't heard her laugh much before.
It did something strange to me. Knocked the wind out of my chest. Not in a romantic way—not yet. But in a real way. A dangerous way. Like suddenly the world felt a little warmer and I didn't know what to do with that.
I knew I had no right.
She was fourteen. I was eighteen.
I was sleeping on her couch.
She was Kaden's sister.
And even if she did look at me sometimes like I mattered—like I wasn't just some broken thing wrapped in borrowed clothes—I couldn't let myself think about what that meant. I didn't have the luxury.
But that didn't stop me from noticing her.
And it didn't stop me from hoping—quietly, selfishly—that maybe she noticed me too.
Not just the bruises.
But me.