“Can we talk about your tattoos, instead?” I ask, already knowing the answer. “They are really interesting, you shouldn’t keep them hidden under sleeves all the time.”

“Stella,” he says, and I sigh.

“Okay,” I start. "But I don't want you to think differently of me. I mean, I know you're going to think differently of me nearly every time we hang out at first. It's only natural when you're getting to know someone, when you're learning so much at once. But—"

He shakes his head, looking sympathetically at me. I allow myself a deep breath at the interruption.

"You don't have to prepare me," he says quietly. "I just want to know, to understand."

I take another deep breath, and then I begin.

“When I was really young, you could say that I was a bit sheltered. My parents and I got along well, I had a simple, sweet group of friends. I was really happy. But I was naïve. When I was fifteen, an older boy at school named Jason started to pay extra attention to me. He was cool and popular and I liked that he treated me like I was special, so we started dating. My parents were apprehensive because I was only fifteen, and they thought I should have been older before I started dating, but they trusted me.

“Jason was nice at first, we had a simple relationship and I liked that. I wasn’t very serious about him.

“He started trying to move things along more quickly, though. He convinced me to do things that made my parents angry, and then told me that they were just being controlling, and trying to break us up. He already had me at that point, and I let him alienate me. I was alone.

“My parent’s were upset that I wasn’t talking to them as much, we’d always been close. But thankfully, they were still watching me carefully. They noticed quickly when I started coming home with bruises.”

Charlie leans forward, looking away for a moment, and then into my eyes again.

“So, when you said that 'it won’t be difficult to cover this one,' it was because you were used to it then? Trying to hide your bruises?” I nod and he looks downward to his lap, shaking his head ever so slightly.

“I know you aren’t like him, Charlie. But when I thought about seeing you training to fight people — I didn't know what to expect. I was afraid that it would remind me too much of that past. I’m not as unaffected as I’d like to be. And what’s worse, I suppress my emotions as much as possible, rather than dealing with them head on. It’s ironic, isn’t it? I want to help other people work through their problems someday, but I can’t very well help myself.”

“I think you’re doing well, Stella. Being abused, in any form, isn’t something that you just accept suddenly and move on from.”

I know then that Charlie and I likely have more in common than he's let on.

“I don’t want you to think that I’m afraid of you at all,” I say. “You are strong, intimidating even, to those who don't know you, but I trust you. I wasn’t scared at all today. I didn’t understand much of what you were doing, but I’m glad I got to see you doing something you love. The view wasn’t all that terrible, either.” I laugh a little, biting my bottom lip, and he laughs, too. I wonder silently if he is self-aware enough to know his own attractiveness.

“Do you have any plans for the rest of the day?” I ask. I should be leaving for my classes soon, but I’ve just told him my most personal story, and I don’t want to leave him yet. Besides, I’ve already missed my first class today; my grades won’t suffer from two more absences.

“No,” he answers and smiles.

“I’m feeling a little reckless, would you like to accompany me while I ditch class?”

He laughs, “I don’t want to pass up the opportunity, Stella. But I feel like I should at least passively encourage you to attend class.”

I grin. He is so well spoken for not participating in academia post high school.

“I’m choosing to ignore your encouragement," I say definitively. "Do you have any idea as to what we could do?”

“Did you really like that stream by the restaurant the other day? There is a trail on the other side that we could walk along. It’s very pretty.”

“Okay, as long as you don’t make me speed walk or attempt to run. This is a stroll, right? Not your daily cardio?”

He laughs, “Yes, Stella, just a stroll.”

Charlie follows me back to campus, where I leave my car, and then he drives us to the trail’s beginning.

He was right – the entire trail is beautiful. The stream runs along the left side, and tall trees grow on the right, their branches reaching over the trail and forming a sort of tunnel for as far as I can see. Spanish moss hangs from the edges of the branches and every once in a while, we come across a patch of wildflowers on either side of the trail.

I use the time walking slowly beside Charlie to ask him about himself, his past, and eventually I ask him directly why he didn't live with his parents as a kid. He hesitates, so I reassure him.

“I can tell that you don’t like to talk about it,” I say, “But when I told you about what happened to me, it made me feel so much freer.”

I look to see him brushing his fingers along his bottom lip, and I know that a part of him wants to tell me.

“You can trust me. I won’t think less of you, no matter what.”

He turns his head finally and looks in my eyes, and then back at his feet. He slows his pace a little and I adjust mine to match. Before he speaks, he squints, concentrating on the trail ahead of us, and breathes a quiet sigh.

“My father left my mom when I was very young. It wasn’t such a clean break, though. He would come back once in a while and spend the money that my mom had saved on booze, and then he would be off again. My first memories are from around the time I turned three, but I assume he’d been doing it longer. When he would leave, he usually left a bit of his alcohol. I don’t know why – the man would have sold my mom and me both for a bottle of whiskey.

“So, my mom would drink when he left – a lot. She would drink until every drop of his alcohol was gone, and then buy more if she could. It would take days sometimes, for her to get out of bed and go back to work. I somehow took care of myself. I remember being hungry a lot, and tired. When I started school, teachers used to ask me why I didn’t have clean clothes that fit. Our house was terribly kept. My mother was too depressed to care, and there was no one to help her. It wasn’t pleasant.

“The last time my father left, he was gone for six months before my mom realized that he probably wouldn't be coming back. I remember coming home from school one afternoon, around that sixth month, and she met me at the door and hugged me. I was only seven, but I knew something was strange, because she so rarely showed affection. She made me dinner that night, too – just boxed macaroni and cheese – but it was more than I was used to. After dinner, she tucked me into bed and told me that she loved me.

“She told me, ‘You’re a strong boy, Charlie. You’ll always be all right, okay? You’re strong, stronger than I am.’

“In the morning, I found her on the bathroom floor. She had overdosed on old prescriptions.”

I allow silence for a moment after he finishes speaking. It isn't enough to say I'm sorry, and I can’t fathom losing a parent so young – let alone being the one to discover the loss. If it weren’t for the fact that we’ve hardly touched, I would reach for his hand. I’m glad when he continues speaking.

“My mom’s older sister and her husband took me in immediately, bringing me to Savannah to live with them. They had always wanted children, but my aunt had miscarried twice, and they decided that it wasn't worth trying again. They were perfect to me, though. I just wish I hadn't have been their problem.

“That’s how I started boxing. I was quiet, and my aunt was worried that I was unhappy. I wasn't, necessarily. I was more confused, I think. My uncle was convinced that I just needed an outlet, a way to feel like a regular kid while I was dealing with the pain of losing my mother. So, he got me involved in a lot of different sports when I was young. By high school, I had decided to play only football, but I kept boxing outside of school. My uncle’s plan had helped, but I was still a burden to them as a teenager."

I finally speak, “Mason told me that you help him practice for his sports sometimes, and he mentioned football. You must have been very good.”

It's changing the subject a bit, and I don't want him to feel as though I'm ignoring the seriousness of what he's just told me. But I don't want to force him to continue with memories that pain him only for my own understanding.

“Yes,” he said, pausing, “Good enough to be offered a few scholarships, but I loved boxing more.”

“You are very impressive,” I say. The way that he looks at me, I can tell that he thinks I’m being sarcastic, still discretely sensitive about the fact that I am at a university and he is not.

“I mean it, Charlie,” I say, “Athletic scholarships are difficult to come by, and most kids don’t have enough talent in anything to completely bypass school and still be able to do something that they love.”

Hopefully, he will understand that I don’t think less of him because he isn’t enrolled in college. Education is important to me, yes; but I don’t think that one can only be educated through schooling. Charlie has already seen and accomplished things that I believe have made him much wiser than I am, or will be for years.

“I honestly can’t imagine you being difficult with anyone," I say with a slight chuckle, "You are one of the easiest people I’ve ever met.”

And before I correct myself, we are both laughing.

“I see,” he says. “I tell you my terrible past and you accuse me of being sleazy.” But he is smiling very widely at me.

“I was difficult though," he says. "I never did anything too awful. I made good grades and I kept various jobs, trying to save money all along. But I had a difficult disposition, no doubt. I love my aunt and uncle very much, and I know that being able to raise me meant a lot to them. But I always felt like they, and everyone else, were so different from me. I felt as though I'd been predisposed to be bad for everything around me – a person who only made things more difficult for other people.”

“But surely you don’t still consider yourself that way. I’m afraid that if you're difficult, I really must be impossible.”

Charlie is so much more kind and balanced than I am, I’m sure of it.

He smiles at the ground, and then looks away, toward the stream. "I think my opinion of myself is starting to change," he pauses before looking towards me again, his faint smile more of an amused grin. "We've learned quite a bit about each other now, haven't we?"

“A lot,” I agree, “But I’m glad that you're being so open with me. I’m lucky to get to know you like this."

He chuckles and puts his arm around my shoulders, not in an awkward or romantic way, but playfully. Rather than become excited and nervous at his touch, it relaxes me. Until, that is, I lift my chin and find him staring down at me.

"You're special, you know? I've known plenty of good people, but no one like you. You don't make me feel so much like a foreign object to goodness. I feel like I could be good for you, in some way," he says softly, but surely.

I stare into his eyes as he speaks, and a moment after, until I feel it necesarry to bite my lip, hiding my smile. Then, I look straight ahead and I try to find the words to thank him, but my thoughts are moving far too quickly, elated in my mind.

His arm is still around my shoulder, our bodies close. He pulls me tighter and kisses my forehead quickly before letting go. I want to squeal, but his simple kiss felt very natural, and squealing would not be.

I think about what he’s just told me as we walk in silence for a while, still enjoying the scenery and each other’s company.

Even though I believe that Charlie has always been good to others, I trust him when he says that I've begun to change his perception of himself. It’s not because I believe that I am a patron saint, by any means. I trust Charlie about my impact because he has done the same for me. He’s made me believe that I stand a chance at trusting people again, at letting them see me and know me.

“Look,” Charlie speaks, pulling me from my own mind, “there’s our balcony.”

I love that he says “our.”

“Isn’t it strange that we were there only yesterday?” I ask. “I still feel like I knew you as well then, in a way. I just know more about you now, does that make sense?”

“Yes, a lot actually.”

I notice that we are coming to a clearing, and Charlie tells me there is a pretty view of the town that he wants me to see.

I hadn’t really noticed, but we are on a large hillside. Further away from the path, rocks line the clearing and give you a view of the town from what feels like a mountaintop. It really is beautiful.

Charlie and I talk about simpler things for a while. Even when we have more trivial conversations, I still find him so interesting.

It is late – nearly evening – when we finally decide to make our way back to Charlie’s car. The afternoon light is golden and it looks so pretty along the path, overcast by large tree limbs and moss.

He tells me, on our walk back, about some of his favorite places that he has been for boxing. His eyes light with every memory that he shares; I can tell that he loves to travel. As he shares his stories, I imagine him walking through the streets of cities alone, giving off a casual heir – nothing of a tourist – but being inwardly excited and interested by everything.

When we make it back to his car, he asks if I am hungry yet.

“I’m alright for now, I think.” My mind is reeling though, trying to find an excuse to spend more time with him and when he speaks, I know that he feels the same.

“Would you – would you want to maybe—” He is struggles with his question.

It’s funny to me and very endearing: I’ve seen him so strong and confident in training – truly in his element. I’ve listened to his honesty and sincerity about things that have happened to him, things that broke him and made him stronger. And now, he is acting shy and nervous again with me.

“I don’t want to go home yet,” I say, trying to ease his nerves.

I smile at him and he turns to me for a second before concentrating again on the road ahead. I suddenly realize what he wants to ask.

If it weren’t Charlie, I wouldn’t even consider what I am about to say. I know that we haven’t been friends for long, but it feels right with him. I believe that I can trust myself, and trust him.

He finally speaks, “What would you like to do, Stella?”

I pause for a moment and lean back into my seat, trying not to over think what I say. “We could just go back to your house, if you want to.”