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“Taylor!”
Marty cried harder each time Derrick called out, clutching to Taylor even more, and Taylor just held her tighter.
When there was a tap at Taylor’s shoulder, she looked to see her mom there with an uneasy expression. “Taylor, Derrick would like to see you,” she said warily.
Taylor felt her eyes go wide, and she shook her head quickly at her mother. Now she was clinging to Marty.
“Taylor! Please!”
Marty loosened her hold on Taylor and leaned back. “Please go to him,” she asked, her eyes full of concern.
Taylor’s panicked eyes darted between her mother and Marty. She really didn’t want to go in there, she wasn’t sure she could handle being around Derrick.
“Taylor!” Derrick screeched from down the hall.
“Please, Taylor,” Marty pleaded next to her.
“Taylor, he needs a friend,” her mom added gently, while smoothing Taylor’s hair.
Taylor felt trapped with no real way out of it. She didn’t want to say no and risk hurting everyone more than they already did. Taking a deep breath, she nodded, rose from the couch, and made her way down the hall to Derrick’s bedroom.
The door was shut, and Taylor hesitated in front of it.You can do this, she gave herself a pep talk. It was the same one she gave herself every day before she had to go and face Derrick at school. Finally, she took a deep breath and knocked softly on the door, but there was no response. She waited for a while, hearing nothing but her own pulse echoing in her ears, and then she finally pushed the door open.
Taylor recoiled as she took in the space: The pictures had been ripped from the walls. Derrick’s desk was broken in two. His computer was smashed, a bat lying on top of the rubble. There were chairs overturned and smashed pieces of knick knacks everywhere.
“Derrick?” Taylor called with her wavering voice into the chaos. It was so quiet she was suddenly worried something had happened to him.
“Tay?” a muffled voice came from the corner, behind the mattress and box spring lying on its side.
Taylor made her way through the debris to the sound. As she peered behind the mattresses, she found Derrick sitting with his back against the wall, and he looked at her in disbelief.
“Derrick, are you okay?” Taylor asked as she came and crouched before him.
“My mom is gone,” he said softly to her.
Taylor nodded. “I know. I’m so sorry, Derrick,” she said, seeing the pain that crossed his face as he said it out loud.
Derrick kept staring at Taylor, his forehead scrunched as he looked at her. “I’m so glad you’re here,” he said and reached out a hand to touch her face.
“Oh my God, Derrick!” Taylor exclaimed as she saw blood dripping from his hand. She grabbed his hand and pulled it so she could see it. Then she did the same with the other hand still in his lap. The knuckles of each of his hands were split open and bleeding. Taylor looked up and saw holes in the wall—the reason for the bleeding, she was sure.
“These look bad, let me get my mom—”
“No!” he shouted, moving his hands to her face. “Please don’t leave,” he begged her, his face full of panic.
“Derrick, we need to clean these up,” Taylor said, lightly touching the back of his hands as they rested on her cheeks. But he made no move. “Let’s go in the bathroom and clean them,” Taylor said, looking into his eyes and nodding. Derrick started nodding with her.
Taylor stood and Derrick scrambled up behind her and grabbed her hand. Taylor froze for a moment and looked down to where their hands were connected, but the sight of Derrick’s beat-up hands reminded her of her task.
They made their way through the debris and into the bathroom, where Taylor washed his hands and then went through the cabinets to find bacitracin and Band-Aids.
“Why did you do this, Derrick?” she asked as she coated his knuckles with the ointment.
“I was mad,” he said as he watched her take care of his hands.
Taylor shook her head. “You have to control your temper. You can’t just—”
“Destroy things. I know,” he answered apologetically, like a child.