It was late, two in the morning to be exact. Yet he still wasn’t home. He said he worked late but she knew better. She knew what he did when the work day was done. He would come home smelling like sweat and cigarettes. Parts of his clothing would be stained a scarlet red. She never said a word about it. She would scrub the cloths clean and set him out a pot of tea for when he arrived. Always home by 3 a.m. every night. At first she believed his excuses. When she noticed the fresh scratch marks and the fact he was only happy when he came home at night she became worried.

          She cursed the clock its stubby arms seemed to tick slower as it got closer to three.

          Once she decided to go to his office and see if he really had work. He didn’t. She tried to remain hidden as he left the building. He took a car that was not his that day. An old beaten up lemon of a car with windows so dark she wasn’t even sure he could see out of them. She followed him for several blocks on her bike. He finally stopped the car in a shabby neighborhood. Every building was covered in graffiti, homes were boarded up, and cars had broken windows. There were women standing on the street corners with too much makeup and dangerously high skirts. What business did he have in a neighborhood like this? He knocked on the door of an abandoned building. A woman with skin tight clothing and bright red lipstick opened up and led him inside. She managed to get through the door before someone came back to shut it. She could hear their footsteps getting farther away. A light shined from the bottom of a stair case. She followed the steps down until she could hear the grunting and the hollering.

          Zico’s shirt was stripped from his body and through the crowed of sweaty men and hostesses, dressed like the one who escorted Zico, she could see the caged arena. He was up against a man who was much larger than he was. He was the first to land a hit but Zico recovered quickly. He landed a solid fist against the guys jaw. And before she knew it Zico was in the middle of a second match. The man hit Zico so hard it brought him to his knees. He was pushed around and hit and kicked. No. She couldn’t watch him get the living daylights beat out of him. She turned and ran home unable to face his secret.

          The pot of tea whistled. The clock now read 3:20 A.M. He still wasn’t home. And now she panicked. What should she do? What could she do? This was his secret it wasn’t her right to expose it by calling the police to find him. She prepared two cups of tea and silently prayed that he was just having car trouble. She waited and waited. She took turns staring at the clock and the door in hopes that he would arrive home soon.

          The clock moved faster than before and it was now four in the morning. She was now pacing in front of the door. She looked through the window every five seconds to see if she could spot him walking up the steps. She was unable to find him every attempt. At 4:30 she looked out for the final time. Finally he was there. He was barely able to drag himself up the steps. His head hung low and deep red blood fell from his face leaving the fluffy white snow stained. She ran out the help him. Her bare feet were numb to the cold and she didn’t care that the cold wind swooped up her night gown. She just wanted him inside.

          She pulled him close and hurried him into the house. She put him in a kitchen chair. He refused to look up at her. She got on her knees in front of him and rested her hands on his thighs. His blond messy hair still hid him from her.

          “Zico.” She reached her hands up to his face but he slapped them away. He attempted to get up and walk away. As soon as he stood he fell to the floor

          She quickly crawled to his side. The dim kitchen light shone on his face. Almost every inch was bruised. Blood was everywhere. From his nose and eyebrow and mouth. His cloths were soaked with sweat and blood. He looked away from her. He couldn’t look her in the eyes. Couldn’t let her see him cry. He tried to wipe his tears but only sank to the floor in pain. She rested a hand on his chest and he screamed in pain. She didn’t know what to do or how to help him without hurting him. She backed away tears streaming down her face. The ugly noises accompanied the tears.

          “Why?”

Schools almost over. I don't know how I'll feel until testing is over.... Wish me luck