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Mayra was shaking so hard, darkness eating away at her. She couldn’t understand why. Hadnt she always been taught that she had to look strong and intimidating? She was taught how to conceal her emotions, bottle them up, trained to feel nothing until it was second nature to her. So what was this-

“No,” the boy said, interrupting her thoughts. In a move that shocked Mayra to the core, he touched her shoulders. She stiffened, unsure what to make of it. He continued. “Look at me; you will get out. I won’t let him hurt you.”

She shivered as she met his determined gaze. A hoarse laugh escaped her. He couldn’t protect her. No one could.

One and half years ago. She was being chased down by the bullies in her foster home. She couldn’t remember their names. Both were girls. Both tall. One dark haired, the other blonde. And they had made it their daily routine to beat her up. Spit on her. Even use their knives on her. Usually it was just her hair. They loved the harm they caused her.

But that day it happened- she had changed. She was no longer the same. She could feel it in her bones, her muscles, every cell in her body.

Things happened. The next thing she knew, one of them was hanging upside down, suspended by reddish energy that she had created, screaming and sobbing with terror. The other was being choked as she lay on the ground, helplessly begging for mercy.

She ignored them. Determination filled her, to make them suffer, to make them feel the humiliation she felt-

Then <i>he </i>arrived. She noticed him standing fifteen yards away. A huge black car was parked down the street. He was striding towards her, dressed smartly in a dark suit. Her eyesight wasn’t great. But when he removes his sunglasses, she could see that his eyes were the coldest, most brilliant blue she had ever seen. And they tracked her.

He saw what she could do. The light in his eyes could have been mistake for reflection from the street light. But it was greed, hunger and delight all rolled into one. And his smile. That was hard to forget too.

Since that very moment they had crossed paths, she had been trapped in a repetitive circle of nightmares.

Then the boy wrapped his arms around her shoulders and the memory fell away. She let out a soft breath, her fists clenched. His arms were strong and gentle, holding her to him as if he was determined to shield her from all the bad things in the world.

No one had hugged her in so long.

“Listen,” he whispered to her. “I know you can’t believe me now, but I promise you can get out. I promise.”

She could feel him struggling to get the words out. Her eyebrows knitted together, sensing the despair in his posture, the sadness in his tone.

“Listen, you’re not alone. I care–I’ll be there–I promise…You’re not alone, you’re not the only one–…”

Oh.

He was holding her tightly, unwilling to let go of her. She swallowed, finally realising why she had felt such a kinship with him the moment she had seen him. They had known similar horrors.

“I loved someone who killed…for pleasure,” he said shakily. “Depending on how you define love. I guess. … I didn’t know anything about who he really was. … Or maybe. I didn’t want to see it.”

Mayra could relate. She had wanted to believe that <i>he </i>truly cared for her. That was what <i>he</i> said to her constantly. <i>You’re nothing without me. No one could love you the way I love you. If you leave me, I will die of a broken heart.

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What this boy had gone through – she felt something crack in her soul. Anger funnelled their way through her. It was cold fire, icy determination. It was the same feeling she felt everytime that monster decided to have his way with her. Resolve. To make him and others like him pay.

“But he had a lot. Of power.” He hesitated, dragged in a breath and said. “He was gay.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, pressing her lips together. What had happened to him was unspeakable. It made her fume and rage. Not for herself. But for him. This boy who had shown her nothing but kindness.

He was quiet for a long long time. Mayra didn’t know how long they had been speaking for. She looked deep into his eyes. She saw the depth of emotion in them. The pains of his past. And somehow – she didn’t feel indifference. Nor anger. She felt – something else.

“Listen to me,” he whispered quietly. “I promise. We will make it out. Understand?”

She nodded. Believing him. Because she did. She believed him. And she could recognise the wounds in his heart. It was the same wounds she had. Only time could heal them.

Except maybe-

She swallowed, feeling like a total idiot. She was absolutely going to regret this. This power – was something she didn’t understand. And this thing she was about to do was even more so. Those who followed the old religion would say it was a gift from Anu. She just referred to it as her best possible quality.

Mayra touched her pendant for a moment, making up her mind. She would do this for the boy.

Gently she reached out and touched the place where his heart was. Then she touched his temple. The boy stared at her, eyes full of questions. She closed her eyes, and a melody fell from her throat.

Her gift couldn’t heal him. Not completely. But it could give him strength and motivation and resolve. She could take the worst of the inner pain away and replace it with something else. She had done it before. This singing ability was something she had her whole life. But she used it rarely.

The lullaby she sang was old. Very old. It had originated in Old Éire, when the folks had told stories about ghosts and fairies and giants. When foreigners invaded their land and destroyed their culture and way of life. When famine forced the natives to leave their ancestral land. The pain and longing in the words could still be felt now, centuries later. She felt her medallion hum on her skin, and she knew that it was glowing softly. Anu or not – someone divine had gifted her with this ability. To use for good.

The melismatic style she sang in was amateurish. But it still came easy to her. Perhaps because her ancestors originated on that isle.

It was working. She could feel soft, silky warmth travelling down her fingertips into the boy. He was shivering. Was he crying? She couldn’t tell.

When she finished, she took her hands back and opened her eyes. He stared at her. Unable to speak.

She let out a trembling breath and held eye contact with him. ”My name – is Mayra Brigid Eirinn Camacho,” she said softly, slowly. “My mother – was Daniela. Honored Air Force Pilot who fought and died for our freedom. I have not – tasted freedom. Never have. But – I want to.” She swallowed. “I do not – know you. But I will – help you.”