The CVS bag felt heavy in her hand, weighted with more than just gauze and antiseptic. It felt like a first offering, a fragile bridge.

Genesis found the apartment building from a sliver of last life memory, a time she'd driven a friend home and noticed the dilapidated brick structure. It was even worse up close. The air in the hallway was thick with the smell of dampness, old grease, and despair.

She stopped in front of apartment 2B. The number was barely visible, painted over and peeling. Taking a deep breath that did nothing to calm the frantic beating of her heart, she knocked. The sound was too loud in the silent hall.

No answer.

She could hear a faint rustling inside, the sound of movement. He was in there.

She knocked again, a little softer this time. "Cas?" she called, her voice trembling slightly. "It's Genesis Greene. From school. I saw you get hurt."

A voice, rough and low, came through the wood of the door. "Get lost."

It was the first time he had ever spoken directly to her. The words were a slap, cold and sharp, laced with a deep-seated weariness.

She didn't move. "Your arm," she insisted, speaking to the closed door. "That cut is bad. It needs to be cleaned, or it'll get infected."

The silence that followed was absolute. She held her breath, hoping.

Then, she heard it. A distinct, final sound.

Click.

The deadbolt.

He had locked her out. He had locked away her help, her concern, her.

A wave of helplessness washed over her. She stood there for a long moment, staring at the peeling paint, feeling the sting of his rejection. But underneath the hurt was a stubborn, aching tenderness. His coldness wasn't for her. It was a shield. A wall he'd built brick by painful brick to keep the world from doing any more damage.

She couldn't break it down by force.

Gently, she placed the CVS bag on the worn, grimy welcome mat in front of his door.

"I'm leaving the supplies here," she said, her voice soft but clear. "There's antiseptic, bandages, and some antibiotic ointment. Please... just use them."

She waited a moment longer, then turned and walked away, her footsteps echoing in the empty hall.

The next day at school was torture. Cas's seat was empty again. All day, Genesis was tormented by images of him in that dark apartment, his wound festering, ignoring the help she'd left.

At the end of the last period, she went to her locker, her mind a numb buzz of worry. She spun the combination, the familiar clicks doing nothing to soothe her. She pulled the metal door open.

And froze.

Sitting on top of her history textbook was a CVS bag. The CVS bag.

Her hands trembled as she lifted it out. It was lighter than she remembered. She looked inside.

The box of large-sized bandages had been opened, and a few were missing. The bottle of antiseptic was a little less full. He had used them.

Relief, so potent it made her knees weak, flooded through her.

But that wasn't all. Tucked neatly back into the bag were brand-new, unopened replacements for everything he had used. A new box of bandages. A new bottle of antiseptic. He'd even bought a new box of the assorted-size band-aids she'd thrown in at the last minute.

And tucked inside the new box of bandages was a small, folded piece of notebook paper.

She unfolded it with fumbling fingers.

Two words were scrawled in a messy but strong hand.

Thanks. Owed.

A laugh escaped her lips, a sound that was half sob. Tears pricked her eyes as she stared at the note.

This was his way. Proud, stubborn, and fiercely principled. He would accept her help when he desperately needed it, but he would not be in her debt. He wouldn't take her charity.

The small, anonymous gesture was more intimate than any conversation. It was a glimpse behind the wall. A tiny crack in the ice.

She carefully folded the note and tucked it into her pocket, a precious secret. She held the bag close to her chest, a ridiculous smile spreading across her face.

He wasn't just a charity case. He wasn't a project.

He was a boy who, despite everything, paid his debts.

And she knew, with a certainty that warmed her from the inside out, that she was going to see him again tomorrow.

---

She didn't go to his apartment the next day. Pushing him would only make him retreat further. Instead, Genesis parked her car across the street, in the lot of a small coffee shop, and waited. It felt like stalking, and a part of her was deeply ashamed, but the larger part, the part that remembered him dying for her, didn't care.

After an hour, he emerged. He was limping more noticeably than before, and he moved with a stiffness that spoke of deep aches and pains. He didn't head toward the construction site or the bus stop for school. He boarded a city bus heading east, toward the suburbs.

Genesis started her car and followed at a discreet distance. "What are you doing, Cas?" she whispered to herself.

The bus wound its way into a neighborhood of modest, tidy houses with green lawns and picket fences. It was a world away from his grim apartment building. Cas got off at a corner and walked to a small, pale blue house.

A middle-aged woman with a sour face opened the door before he could knock. Dori Duffy. His aunt. Genesis could just make out her sharp, whining voice through the closed car window.

"About time. You have the money? Your mother's monthly expenses are due."

Cas reached into his pocket and pulled out the crumpled bills Mitch Kowalski had thrown at him. The money he'd been beaten and humiliated for. He handed it over without a word.

Dori snatched the cash and counted it quickly. Her face soured even more. "Is this it? Is this all? At this rate, that settlement money from your father is going to be gone before she is."

At the mention of his mother, Barb Morrison, Cas's entire body went rigid.

A large, slovenly man with a cigarette dangling from his lips appeared in the doorway behind Dori. Dale Duffy, his uncle. He saw Cas and, without breaking stride, hawked and spit a thick glob of phlegm that landed inches from Cas's worn-out sneakers.

"Bad luck follows you everywhere, boy," Dale grunted.

Genesis felt a surge of hot, violent anger. These were his family. This was how they treated him.

Cas ignored his uncle's greeting. His voice was low, almost a plea. "Can I... see her?"

Dori rolled her eyes. "And get her all worked up? No. The doctor says she needs calm. The sight of you is the last thing she needs."

The words were designed to wound, and they hit their mark. Genesis saw the flicker of pain in his eyes before it was replaced by that familiar, icy mask.

Dale stepped forward, puffing out his chest. He jabbed a thick finger into Cas's shoulder. "You heard her. Get lost. We don't want you here."

Cas stood his ground, his silence more defiant than any shout.

Dale, enraged by this passive resistance, shoved him hard in the chest. "I said, get out of here!"

Already off-balance from his limp, Cas stumbled backward, catching himself just before he fell. He looked up, and for a second, the mask slipped. His eyes blazed with a pure, undiluted fury.

The look was all Dale needed. He swung his open hand, the crack of it hitting Cas's cheek echoing in the quiet suburban street.

The sound was like a gunshot to Genesis's heart.

Cas's head snapped to the side. A bright red mark instantly bloomed on his skin. He didn't make a sound. He just took it, his jaw clenched so tight Genesis worried his teeth would shatter.

Dale raised his hand again, but Dori grabbed his arm. "Not on the porch, Dale! The neighbors!" she hissed.

She gave Cas one last shove. "Go on, get out of here. And don't come back until you have the rest of the money."

The door slammed shut, the sound final and brutal.

Cas stood on the welcome mat for a long, long time, staring at the closed door. A statue of rejected grief.

Genesis finally understood. The money wasn't for him. It was for his sick mother. And the very people entrusted with her care were the ones torturing her son. His world was smaller, darker, and more cruel than she could have ever imagined.

Eventually, he turned. He didn't go back to the bus stop.

He started walking.

Genesis followed, keeping a long distance. She watched as Cas limped down the suburban streets, his shoulders slumped in defeat. He walked for miles, through manicured neighborhoods and past busy intersections, all the way back to the rotting heart of the city. Back to his tiny, empty apartment.

The journey was long and silent. And for every painful step he took, Genesis's resolve hardened into something unbreakable.

---

She couldn't stay away. Not after what she'd seen.

Genesis didn't follow him this time. She went straight to his apartment building and waited on the chipped concrete steps outside, watching the sky bleed from orange to a bruised purple. She had to talk to him, face to face. She had to let him know he wasn't invisible.

The front door of the building creaked open, and a man stumbled out. He reeked of stale beer and sweat. Ray Donahue, a neighbor she'd seen coming and going. His eyes, small and bloodshot, landed on Genesis, and a greasy smile spread across his face.

"Well, hello there, little bird," he slurred, moving toward her. "Whatcha doin' all alone in the dark?"

Genesis stood up immediately, her skin crawling. "I'm waiting for someone."

"I'm someone," he said, closing the distance. He reached out and grabbed her wrist, his grip surprisingly strong. "Why don't you wait with me? We could have some fun."

"Let go of me!" she yelled, yanking her arm, but he held fast. Panic, cold and sharp, seized her. He started to drag her toward the shadows of the building's entryway.

"I said, let go!"

"You heard her."

The voice was quiet, flat, and colder than the grave.

Both Genesis and Ray turned. Cas was standing at the edge of the street, bathed in the orange glow of a streetlight. The exhaustion was gone from his face, replaced by a look of terrifying, focused rage.

He moved with a sudden lurch. He didn't shout, didn't posture. He bent down, his hand closing around a loose brick from a crumbling retaining wall.

Before Ray could even process the threat, Cas was on him. He lunged, bringing the brick down with desperate force. It wasn't a calculated strike, but a raw explosion of rage, and it connected with a sickening crunch against the man's hand.

There was a wet crack, followed by a scream of agony from Ray.

His grip vanished. Genesis scrambled away, her heart trying to beat its way out of her chest.

Ray was on the ground, clutching his mangled hand, howling.

Cas stood over him, the brick still raised, his chest heaving. The look in his eyes was wild, feral. He was going to hit him again.

"Cas, no!" Genesis cried, rushing forward and grabbing his arm. "Stop! It's okay, he let me go!"

Her touch, her voice, seemed to break the spell. The madness in his eyes receded, replaced by a dawning horror. He looked from Ray, to the brick in his hand, to her.

The brick dropped to the pavement with a heavy thud.

"I'm calling the cops! You're dead, you psycho bastard!" Ray shrieked from the ground.

Cas didn't even look at him. He grabbed Genesis's hand-gently this time-and pulled her toward the apartment building. He half-dragged her up the rickety stairs to the second floor and fumbled with his keys, finally shoving the door open and pulling her inside.

He slammed the door shut, plunging them into the near-darkness of his small apartment.

It was the first time she had been inside his world. The room was sparse, almost empty. A mattress on the floor, a single wooden chair, a small stack of books. But it was spotlessly clean.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice shaky.

He let go of her hand as if it were on fire. He turned his back to her, his shoulders rigid. "You see?" he said, his voice a low, rough rasp. "This is what happens. This is me."

He spun around to face her, his face a mask of self-loathing. "I'm violent. I'm dangerous. I'm the trash that lives in a place where men like that feel brave."

A bitter, broken laugh escaped his lips. "Are you happy now? You got your little charity project to perform for you. You can see what a monster I am and go back to your perfect life."

He was pushing her away. He was showing her his ugliest parts, hoping it would be enough to make her run. He wasn't angry at her. He was terrified for her.

Tears welled in her eyes, but she shook her head, her voice firm. "I'm not scared of you, Cas."

His face crumpled in frustration. He strode to the door and wrenched it open, pointing out into the dark, grimy hallway.

"Get out," he snarled, the words tearing from his throat. "Go. Don't you get it? He's going to call the cops. They're going to come here. Because of you. So go. And don't ever come back."

---