That small distance changed the room immediately.
Leo pulled his left hand from the pocket of his hoodie.
Bruises covered his fingers.
A narrow red mark circled his wrist.
Not a vague patch of irritation.
A line.
I asked him when he had eaten last.
He hesitated.
Sometime the previous afternoon, he said.
Greg answered from the wall before I could ask why.
I didn’t respond to him.
I kept my attention on Leo.
The swelling in the boy’s face needed medical treatment regardless of whatever else was happening, and that had to remain my first responsibility.
I cleaned the skin beside the opening carefully.
Leo didn’t flinch.
I placed two gloved fingers against the swollen area and applied gentle pressure.
Something moved beneath the skin.
Not the ordinary give of inflamed tissue.
Not the shifting softness of fluid.
Something rolled away from my touch.
I stopped.
