The reviews I've gotten so far have been lovely, thank you again for reading! I'm growing quite attached to this story as I'm slowly fleshing Eli and Clare out. In coming chapters, you'll start to seeing more characters as well. This chapter is from Eli's perspective, and you'll gain some clarity on why he's in a juvenile detention center in the first place. This is a lengthier chapter, and I'm beginning to think they'll get a smidgen longer as I go along.

As always, reviews are so very, very appreciated, and I hope you enjoy!

"What did you do to him?!" a man's voice screams, fury mixed with concern in his tone.

"I-I didn't..." Eli stutters, unable to string together a coherent sentence as he looks to his hands, trembling and painted the color of blood. Or was it actually the blood of another man splattered across his knuckles? It was hard to tell in his unhinged state.

"He's unconscious!" the man yells, Eli finally recognizing him as a teacher at the school. He looks around the hallway that just a moment ago had been entirely empty aside from him and a certain bully that had a penchant for antagonizing him.

A crowd begins to form, their eyes shifting between Eli and the bloody, battered boy lying on the floor. He is unmoving, Eli isn't even sure if he has a pulse, or if he had knocked the life out of him. At once he could practically hear the judgements they were making, reading them clear as day as if they were written on their faces.

'That kid was going to snap one day, he had it coming.'

'Didn't know he had it in him, good luck in jail, buddy.'

'Little piece of shit thinks he can throw a punch, wait and see till ten of his friends get him in an alley.'

But Eli had heard it all. Every insult, every snide remark. Every little word that was intended to break his spirit, and somehow was succeeding in that very act. Mike had had it coming, but Eli couldn't have anticipated it so soon, or that he would be the deliverer of the blow.

Retreating until his back hits a locker, he trembles his head in terror as the nurse tries to shake Mike awake, to no avail. He is now sure he has killed him. Though he didn't realize he could put so much force behind his hit, there he is, clear as day bleeding on the floor in a way that almost looks artistic. Purposeful. In a morbid sense. A tortured scene that perhaps a turn of the century artist may approve of.

"Why did you swing at him?" the teacher questions, pelting him with the accusation.

"He was throwing punches at me! I got tired of running away!" Eli answers honestly, his voice shaking with adrenaline.

"You're supposed to go to the principal about that, let us help you."

"I did and no one cared! In one ear, out the other. I said I was getting harassed on a daily basis, in and out of school, and you all turned the other cheek. It was either this or hang myself." He swallows the lump in his throat, noting how dry his mouth has become at his sudden confession. Yes, that had been on his mind. A week or two more of the relentless bullying would have done Eli Goldsworthy in, that was for sure. For so long he'd dealt with every punch, attempted to outsmart him, and hoped against hope that somehow the torture would end. With this final day, he'd lost his patience, unable to handle the pressure anymore.

At this, the teacher doesn't say anything, simply gritting his teeth and grabbing the sleeve of Eli's shirt, pulling him away from the scene.

The last thing he sees before being pulled around the corner of the hall is Mike stirring, and his mouth moving, trying to say something. "My eyes...I can't see..."

With a start, Eli woke from his sleep, a sweaty sheen coating his skin. It wasn't a new nightmare; it was something he had stuck in his consciousness regularly, the details of the day only becoming more clear with each time he involuntarily revisited it. A chill ran through him, finally getting a hold of himself enough to sit up.

Hugging his body, he blinked his eyes, adjusting to the light. It must have been early evening, he assumed. Earlier in the day his fatigue had gotten the best of him, making him feel as though napping would be the best idea. Immediately he was regretting it, now plagued with the lingering thoughts as a result.

Running his hand over his face, Eli sighed in discontent, then looking around his room. On the small counter beside his bed lay an envelope. The sight alone made his heart skip a beat, the letter serving as a small silver lining to the bad day he'd been having. Snatching it up off the counter, he eagerly opened it.

Clare's handwriting was starting to become familiar to him, a small comfort in the terrible situation he found himself in. Though it hardly made being in juvie worth it, he had to admit that he enjoyed the discussion they'd shared so far, and hoped he hadn't made a terrible impression on her with his reply.

He began looking over the paper, her scrawl soothing him at once even before he gained comprehension on what any of it said.

Fine, I'll play along. Dear stranger named Eli,

You're being awfully thoughtful about the meaning behind this word, aren't you? I'd be willing to say you're completely over-thinking it, but to each their own. I feel we were strangers until the moment we traded names and a few facts. Now I've gained an understanding of you, and I'd like to build off of it. Simply casting me aside as a stranger almost makes this feel temporary, and although it probably is, I wish it wasn't. But um, I'm ranting now, I'll stop.

I really like the name Elijah. It rolls off the tongue quite nicely, but I'll stick with Eli since you seem like you're partial to that. I can assure you, no hidden motives here. Simply a girl on a mission to brighten your days. I hope I'm succeeding even a little right now.

Eli shook his head, a small grin on his face. Of course she was brightening his day, especially after the shitty, repetitive nightmare he'd had. He could barely even believe the relief that washed over him the moment he saw the letter there.

I suppose I can understand why you wouldn't want to disclose that information, though I'll admit your second reason does have my curiosity piqued. (And it leaves me slightly on edge, but I digress.) I don't think you could chase me off though. There's surely very little harm in corresponding through letters, right? Whatever got you where you are, it matters not. I have faith that you're working to atone for your wrongdoings, and make something more of yourself. It might be too soon to say, but I feel as though you have a pure heart, and a kind one as well. You're probably thinking I wouldn't truly know, right?

Pausing, Eli grinned, silently nodding to himself. What would she know, truly? Though his crime certainly hadn't been as bad as some of his other fellow inmates, (not to mention the fact that it was entirely unintentional.) he couldn't say that he harbored a "pure" or "kind" heart. If anything, the whole experience had hardened him to a degree he thought he wasn't even capable of, a strong bitterness for his own past and for those in authority brewing within him. In his eyes, his school had failed him by refusing to help make the environment a safer place for him when he all but begged for help. And he failed himself by getting into such a position, fighting back after such a long time spent taking the punches and trying to ignore the insults. It seemed in the end, he was still being punished for something he hadn't meant to do. The joke was on him, and the guilt of blinding his aggressor wouldn't let up. Anyone else could see that Eli clearly had a heart, simply because of the extent to which he felt the guilt. But to him, it meant very little, merely a side effect of time spent behind bars. His life already felt wasted, a year and a half down the drain with a grim outlook on the future at hand.

Shaking himself from his thoughts, he returned to the letter, picking up where he left off.

Well I couldn't disagree more, but you go ahead and think what you like. From what I can gather about you, you're probably as stubborn as a mule, and won't listen to reason. Yet again, more assumptions, but I doubt you can deny that one.

With a wide grin, Eli chuckled, seeing the truth in her words at once. Already she seemed to be getting a grasp on him, and he appreciated how perceptive she was, even through text.

Writing and thinking truly are one in the same, but the latter tends to land you in more trouble than the former. Or at least that's how it is for me. If I give myself too much time to dwell, if anyone does, it isn't always pretty. But that's where writing comes in, right? It's an escape like no other, and I'm really happy to see that we share that passion. I can really level with you on that. Oh, so you're a year ahead of me, technically at least. I'm in grade ten currently. Poor you, having to repeat. But it might be best, since you did miss a large chunk of time. It could turn out well, you never know.

Oh Eli, no. Not at all, I'm so sorry you thought that. My phrasing was horrible, I'm seeing that now as you explain it to me. You're not a charity case, nor am I doing this to win brownie points with the Lord, so-to-speak. No...I just, I don't know. I've always wanted a pen pal, perhaps that's all this boils down to. I...get lonely, you know? I do have friends, but they're always busier than I am and I find myself with too many gaps of time for my liking. Writing these has made me feel a lot better, as strange as that may sound. I hope I'm not coming off as overbearing in saying that, because we could stop anytime you like. But, I really enjoy talking to you through these letters so far, and it's definitely not for any reason other than I like it. I hope you believe me, because I'm being sincere.

I'd imagine that passing the time would be rough whilst there. What kinds of things do you write? Poetry? Narrative? A bit of both? What genres? A lot of questions, I know. I'm just very enthused that we have this in common; none of my friends like writing in the same way I do. It's nice to know I'm not the only one.

Indeed it is rusty, I didn't find a shred of humor in your words, but I'll let it slide this time. She does work for the greater good, she's my inspiration every day to be kind and patient. I can't say I feel that way about anyone else, so that counts for something, right?

Through everything Clare said, Eli could really tell that she cared. She was a very rare form of human being that felt such strong empathy, and possessed such a big heart that at times, it seemed she didn't even know what to do with it. It was something Eli greatly admired, his chest warming up comfortably even at the thought of her and her kind spirit. It was such a great contrast to his.

Pizza is wonderful, excellent choice, sir. And yes, I can really see that English would be your strong suit, what with your vocabulary. (Which is leaving me floored, by the way.) I'm willing to bet you have tons of capability in your other subjects, but like you said, it comes down to motivation. Perhaps one day you'll find it in you to throw yourself into them? I think I try equally hard in all of my classes, though I will admit that I enjoy English the most. My teacher is just absolutely astounding. She's inspirational, and always knows how to help me out of a writing block. I think everyone should have a teacher like her once in their lives. I think she's really changing me, helping to better me as a person and a writer. That must sound so cheesy. Don't mind me.

Hm, I used to wonder what it was like being an only child, until Darcy left. Now I really do feel like an only child, and it's awfully lonely. I don't know how you can stand it, though if you're used to not having someone around, it's understandable. It sounds like you and your parents have a good bond, even if it is a little unconventional. Whatever works, really. Oh, did they give you too much trust with something? Did something bad happen to you? That was too prying, my goodness. You don't have to answer that if you don't want to, I apologize.

I definitely do want to keep writing, I'm actually really relieved to see you wrote that. I was nervous that you would have grown tired of me already. Goodness, those are some thought provoking questions, surprisingly insightful too. Well, my favorite scent I think would be a tie between my vanilla perfume and the scent of my Aunt's house. It's a mixture of coffee and cigarettes. Now, I'm no smoker and the thought even grosses me out, but the scent is very mild in her home, very overpowered by the coffee. I've been used to that scent since I was little, and I suppose it just comes as a comfort to me. My clothing style? I'd describe it as comfy trendy. I love wearing dresses with tights, some sweaters to go over it. Anything floral immediately catches my eye; I adore flowers. I eat my ice cream in a cup because I'm a klutz and know better than to trust myself with a cone. That last question is stumping me, my favorite place. I'd say my room but that's cliche, and not true at all. Is it corny if I say the library is? I just feel so at ease there, and I love walking through the stacks, picking books at random and breathing them in. I'm so bizarre, I know.

But to him, she wasn't. To him, she was already painting this beautiful, almost unbelievable picture of herself, and he knew it was all genuine by the way she phrased it. Eli longed to know someone like Clare for the greater part of his life. To know that someone like her existed out there came as a great comfort, one he found himself incapable of taking for granted.

Eli, even the way you strung those words together gave me chills, you must be an extraordinary writer. I feel the same way about you, I mean, you know what I mean, at least I hope you do. There I go rambling again.

I want to give you some questions back, because I can admit that I'm so very curious about you. Alright, here goes. Do you prefer pens or pencils? Do you drive? How do you feel about visiting the dentist? What's your favorite month and why? Do you prefer falling asleep or waking up? And what's one of your favorite song lyrics?

I must say, knowing you enjoy this as well comes as a great comfort to me, more than you probably understand. I hope you're having a good day, Eli. I can't wait to hear from you.

Clare

It couldn't be said that he wasn't having a good day at all before her letter, but after, his mood had improved drastically. Eli quickly got to work on his reply, his pen speeding across the crisp white paper with the simplest of ease, every word to Clare coming out of him effortlessly. As if he was writing to an old friend, or his other half.

Every bit of him wished that she was.