Lincoln Pierce wasn't one who took too kindly to defeat. Most people, like myself, got upset when nothing seemed to be working in our favour. My rebellious classmate, however, just became infuriated — more determined than before. So as I strode down the sidewalk, my arms clenched tightly around my waist, I knew exactly what I was looking for.

I just didn't know where to start.

A pair of Lincoln's worn out Nike's shielded my feet from the elements as I clumsily carried myself as quickly as possible down the inky street. I could only hope I took off in the right direction. I had been in so much of a hurry I hadn't even paused outside his house to consider where he'd go. With the fresh image of a determined looking Lincoln branding my mind and I continued to keep my eyes peeled for his monstrous frame trudging somewhere along the same road.

Having panic spread through me I alternated between jogging and speed walking for what felt like forever. Every fibre of my being was afraid of what Lincoln would do. I had half a mind to believe he went to go track down his father and seek revenge. If that were the case me huffing and puffing down this path was just about as useful as chopsticks to a chicken.

Stopping under a street lamp I paused to catch my breath. I'd been searching for ten minutes but was coming up short. I considered the possibility of retracing my steps and heading in an alternative direction. What if he had already returned home? What if he had gone for a walk to clear his head, needing a brief moment on his own? It could have very well been like that time Willow escaped through the backdoor. I had gone crazy searching for her, I had even chased down another stray calico that in no way resembled her besides the colour scheme of their coats. After hours of searching my father had told me she had returned fifteen minutes after leaving.

Clicking the home-screen button on the bottom of my phone caused a light to emit from between my fingers. 8:16 flashed boldly in white against my much adored screen saver of Dylan O'Brien.

Maybe I should just head back?

Preparing to turn around I shoved my phone back into my pocket, but as I raised my foot to move forward a dark shadow entered my vision.

On the other side of the strip of pavement a figure marched along an open field that I knew to be home to a set of railway tracks. I watched the large figure I'd become accustomed to move behind the wired fence that separated the tracks from the rest of the neighbourhood. It was due to parents complaining about their children venturing onto the tracks in the first place that the barrier was installed. That's precisely why it was so odd to witness anyone back there.

I continued to follow the male figure with my eyes, stalking him until he disappeared along the tracks and into a dense patch of forest.

Scampering across the street, not even bothering to check for cars, I jumped against the fence — hooking my fingers into the diamond shaped crevices. I probably appeared like a horrible Spiderman impersonator to on-lookers. Lincoln's shoes, being too big for my feet, slipped about as I scaled. I even managed to have one drop completely off my foot when I made it to the top.

Reaching the bottom I hopped around, trying to keep my balance until I could retrieve the fallen shoe. Sadly, my uncoordinated self couldn't stay up right on the moist ground without both lower limbs. Unwillingly my foot met the floor, dunking my sock in a freezing mix of snow and thawed mud. Solemnly swearing to wash Lincoln's footwear for him when we returned I fought back the disgusting feeling of soggy cotton and pressed on.

The ground became more solid as I moved towards the tracks, the surrounding trees sheltering me from the brisk breeze. There was less and less light as I trekked forward but I refused to pull out my phone and signal to Lincoln I was hot on his trail. Blindly, I maneuvered over the railway, stubbing my toe every now and then. Figuring I would end up killing myself on the creaky wooden trail I stumbled over to my left. The crunching of the gravel beneath me reminded me I was no good at following people.

Pine leaves and stray branches skidded against me as I passed, their wintery touch throwing me into a fit of shivers. The cover of the bush soon ended and an opening welcome me forward. It was a secluded little meadow, a large clearing in the middle of the woods. The trees were very sparse to the right of me, almost none existent, and I knew civilization was concealed behind it.

Thunk.

A steady stream of thumping fluttered to my ears as I made my way towards the end of my armour of trees. Very cautiously, as not to be spotted, I edged around a sturdy pine and peeked into the clearing.

I was a hundred and ten percent sure the shadow man was Lincoln by this point. His familiar build stood further to my left, bending for rocks only to cast them against a couple of run down train cars. The abandoned cars lay about twenty yards from the track. They were covered in frost and snow, their wheels sunken into the ground. It was no doubt they had been their a while. I wondered how long Lincoln knew about them.

Feeling it was time to make my presence known I fearlessly stepped out of the bush and into the open.

"You're not really good at staying away, are you?"

Lincoln's words caused my stride to falter. There was no pause in his actions, he fluidly chucked rock after rock, the steady thumping seemed to be never ending. When Lincoln asked me that short question in the past he always seemed irritated. In that moment, however, he sounded distracted, absolutely lost in thought.

"Your mom thought I should come and check on you." That was only half the truth but it seemed like a reasonable enough explanation all on its own.

As I inched closer I could hear Lincoln's response. It was a sarcastic puff of air, almost as if he found the idea bitterly amusing.

A soft whisper of a breeze blew by, tossing the locks on Lincoln's head. "She's worried about you, you know? From what I saw—"

"Pretend like you saw nothing." Lincoln interrupted, fingering the stone in his hand. "Because that's what you saw, nothing. You don't know the half of it, you haven't seen a speck from the shit-pile that is my life."

He was right in a way. I had no idea what was truly going on. I had just witnessed a tiny preview of why Lincoln Pierce remained the way he was. Sure I had encountered rough patches in my own life, but nothing like this, nothing on this level. And there was little to no way I would be able to understand. Not unless he told me.

I hesitated, opening my mouth before closing it again. Lincoln was uncharacteristically calm considering what happened a little less than half an hour prior. I didn't want to disturb that. But I also knew Lincoln needed an outlet. Something less destructive than underground street fighting.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked softly, watching the muscles of his bare arms constrict and release as he tossed another stone.

Luckily, or unluckily, his tone was still empty. "What's there to talk about?"

"Well, for starters you could tell me who that man was." I stepped forward hoping to see more of his face as I threw out my suggestion. The full moon and slight illumination from the city lights behind us made it easier to see. "Was that your—"

"Don't say the word. Don't say it." He bit out before collecting himself again. "He's a sperm donor at best."

Understanding the sensitivity on the subject I retreated from that question, like a dog running away with it's tail between it's legs.

"How about—"

"There's nothing to talk about." Lincoln persisted.

"There's plen—"

"For God sakes California, what do you want me to tell you?" Lincoln whirled around to face me, his once empty tone filled with frustration. "That my sperm donor is an abusive alcoholic that would gamble away the lives of his children if that's all he had left? Or how about that no matter what he says or how much he hurts her, my mother will always forgive him? He soaks us dry. My mother works more than humanly possible but he always manages to kick us back down to ground zero."

A deep breath pumped out of Lincoln's nose, the air visible due to the cold.

"Do you see why now?" His question caught me off guard. "Do you see why this tutoring crap is a load of bullshit to me?" Lincoln stepped closer, his eyes focused on mine. "Because as long as that bastard can come and go as he pleases I'm stuck here. Whatever I wanted to do, whoever I wanted to be, that's all done with now. I can't go off to some fancy college or get a decent paying job that offers more than minimum wage. I can't leave, I'm stuck here. Sadie and my mom need me."

"Why doesn't she leave? Pick up and take you and Sadie with her?" There had to be something to be done to keep them all out of his father's clutches.

"Where is she going to go? We're practically in the negatives. He hardly leaves enough to send Sadie to daycare." Lincoln's gaze didn't leave the frost covered ground as he bitterly laughed again. "Beside's he's already threatened her with Sadie's custody if she files for divorce and I'll be damned if he ever lays a hand on her."

I felt for Lincoln. He was stuck between a rock and a hard place. The newly found knowledge definitely cleared somethings for me. Like why Lincoln always seemed so serious, he had more responsibility and more worries than adults double his age. There wasn't much room for being a teenager when you're faced with that.

Studying as much of Lincoln as I could with the little amount of surrounding light I restricted myself from pestering for more answers. I had what I needed to know the gist of things and checking over Lincoln again I was positive he just wanted to call it quits for the night. The adrenaline boost was gone and had drained him of his fight, swiping what energy remained. In a more neutral state it was clear Lincoln was feeling the cold. Without the added hormones to numb him goose bumps appeared on his bare arms, his white v-neck doing little to serve him.

The goal now was to get him home.

"You ready to head back?" I asked hopefully.

"No." Picking up another stray stone, Lincoln brought his attention back to the discarded train pieces.

"You have to go home eventually Lincoln. Your mom is worried to death about you."

"That place was never my home. It was more like a prison run by Satan himself." He muttered lowly making me want to open my mouth in rebuttal — he cut me off. "As for my mom, it's better to let her have sometime with Sadie, to calm her down. She has enough to worry about. If I go back now she'll just pine over me. She knows I'll be back. Can't exactly go anywhere, now can I?" By his final sentence Lincoln's voice was laced with enough tartness to make a UFC fighter cringe.

If he didn't want to return to his house just yet that was fine, but I wasn't about to allow him to stay out in the cold any longer.

"Well, in that case, what if we stop by Timmies. My treat?" I offered in a hopeful tone. I mean, no one in their right mind could refuse Tim Hortons.

Instantaneously, Lincoln glared in my direction.

Okay, proven fact, Lincoln Pierce was not in his right mind.

"I've told you before and I'll remind you this one last time. I am no body's charity case. Especially now more than ever. Nothing changes with you knowing a few more details about my life. Nothing. I told you what you've been dying to figure out this whole time, don't make me regret it."

"Hey," I said, looking more than a little confused. "This has nothing to do with that. If you really must know why I asked it's because I want to get a certain jacket-forgetting idiot out of the cold before he catches hypothermia." I uncovered, cocking an eyebrow in his direction while he stared me down with a deadpan gaze. "I know you're perfectly capable. Seeing what you do for your mother and baby sister proves that. But I think someone ought to look out for you for a change — even if it's only once in a while."

Lincoln's expression didn't change much as he proceeded to stare me down. I'm positive my entire being was giving off an unsure vibe. This could go in two very different ways. I don't know whether Lincoln would accept what I said or if I had just made everything worse for myself.

Without so much as a peep Lincoln dropped the rock that was once held in his iron fist.

"Let's cut back this way." His head bobbed in the direction he intended. "It's faster to get into town and usually less muddy. I don't want you destroying my sneakers more so than you already have."

My shamed faced expression had my cheeks burning red. Thankfully, Lincoln didn't stick around to see it. Before he was even finished he was heading off into the sparse trees.

The walk to the nearest Tims was made in silence. The only noise between us was the little squeaks I made while tripping over the nonexistent cracks in the sidewalk.

Damn overgrown clown shoes.

When we got to the entrance Lincoln held the door open for me. It took everything I had not to stop and gawk at the gesture. I mean, just a few weeks ago he was attempting to amputate four of my fingers with his car door.

The dinging of the bell rang as we made our way to the cash. Surprisingly enough there weren't very many people around. The only occupants being a small elderly group seated by the side windows.

"What would you like?" I half-turned to Lincoln, questioning him lightly as we approached the counter.

Lincoln refused to even make eye contact with the lit menus suspended above his head. Instead he found an odd interest in the ongoing card game to his left. "Nothing, don't worry about it."

"I'm getting something to warm you up. Now pick before I take a gander at what you won't hate."

"A small peppermint tea is fine." He said after me refusing to back down.

"Not a coffee drinker?" I asked.

He shook his head, displacing his hair even more. "Never have been."

With a thoughtful smile and a brief nod of my head I turned to the young woman in front of me. "Could I get a small french vanilla and a medium peppermint tea, please?"

"I told you small." Lincoln lectured in my ear after I fished out loose change from my coat. "I'm paying you back."

"You're a growing boy." I teased over my shoulder. "And I'm not crying over two dollars, don't worry about it. You sure you don't want anything else?"

Making steady eye contact Lincoln shook his head.

Our order was ready in under two minutes. Before I could reach out a pair of worn hands plucked our drinks off the surface.

"Where do you wanna sit?"

"Front corner over there sound good?" I inquired while extending a finger.

Simultaneously we strolled over to the furthest table. I slid into my seat, unzipping my coat and placing it behind me. Lincoln slid in across from me, his body taking up much more space on his side of the small square table. I popped the drinking tab on the lid of my cup, Lincoln deciding to take his off completely. Like our walk we sat quietly. Wrapping my hands around the cardboard sleeve I relished in the warmth.

A few minutes passed without so much as a word. It was a comfortable silence, nothing awkward or unnatural about it but I had too many questions bubbling up to keep quiet any longer.

"Hey Lincoln," I started while he took a sip of his tea. "Has your mom ever reached out about her situation?"

He licked his top lip as he brought the steaming liquid down. "Not much to turn to."

"Family?"

"Dead."

"Friends?"

"He made sure to ruin all that for her before he left."

With sadness settling in my stomach I tried again. "Has she ever tried calling for professional help?"

Lincoln furrowed his brows. "Like a psychiatrist?"

"No," I insisted with a shake of my head, "like the police."

"Once." Lincoln broke eye contact, fiddling with the removed lid from his tea.

"Did they not help?" I questioned utterly bewildered. Surely if they went to the cops all this disaster would be over with by now.

An acidic chuckle escaped his lips. "Not in the slightest."

"What happened? If you don't mind me asking."

"I do mind." He replied honestly, making brief eye contact. "But since I've been so honest with you tonight I might as well finish answering your questions." Lincoln seemed to be in deep thought, trying to retrieve a moment in time I was sure was locked away in a very dark corner of his mind. "It's not a very dramatic story. One night a few years ago before he left it got really ugly. It was an argument over my mother being pregnant with Sadie. The bastard didn't like it. It took money away from his gambling addiction and he figured this was my mother's way of trapping him. My mother would have never willingly brought another person into the world knowing our living conditions. But it's not like he gave her a choice regarding anything anyways." Lincoln clenched his jaw, straining the muscles and accentuating his cheek bones.

"He was drunk as usual. Things were getting out of hand. He kept saying shit like how he was going to abort it himself is she didn't get it done. When I couldn't take it anymore I did the one thing my mother begged me not to do. I thought it would help us get away from him but I was so, so wrong." He recalled, still fidgeting. "They were there in under ten minutes and within that time frame he managed to convince my mom to cover his ass. In exchange she could keep the baby. The both of them managed to convince the two officers that I was resentful of the bastard grounding me or some shit like that — calling the cops was my sick idea of pay back.

"Those same officers came back to check up a couple more times but my mother was brainwashed and fearful and the beating I received that night ensured I'd never go to the cops about it again."

A thick lump was stuck in my throat by the end of his story. I was envisioning it all as he confided in me. It made everything so real it hurt. Lincoln, nor his mother, nor Sadie deserved anything that was happening to them. I took a moment to force the uncomfortable lump back down my throat but the more I sat in silence the more my hatred for that monster grew. I didn't even feel like talking anymore, I only wanted to reach out across the table and wrap the abused boy in a hug. Someone needed to help them. I needed to help them.

"It was that bad?"

"I have the scars to prove it." He motioned towards the lighter bit of flesh that cut across his brow. "This being one of them."

"That's so horrible Lincoln. I'm—"

"Don't." He cut me off briskly. "I'm not telling you this to get your sympathy. I'm trying to make you understand. There's a reason behind my madness."

I mulled over his words.

"Is that the reason why you fight? Practice to be able to defend yourself?"

"That's part of it, yeah. I made a promise to myself that night that no one would ever beat me that bad again."

My heart lurched at the thought of him feeling the need to savagely protect himself from his own father. "And the other reason?"