When Simon was forced to retire due to an injury, he was left with no sense of purpose and a hyperactive military dog– Riley.

Riley needed constant stimulation, or he would become restless and agitated, start chewing on furniture and Simon’s best pair of combat boots. So Simon enrolled him in a therapy dog program for the local school.

It wasn’t too difficult. Riley was already a highly trained asset, so he obeyed commands perfectly, and could stay still while the children petted him and peppered his soft fur in kisses. The dog seemed happy enough, and he became especially attached to you–

You have an iron deficiency; anemia, to be exact. You’re more delicate than the other children, and sometimes even your vitamins and supplements aren’t enough to chase away the paleness from your skin and the fatigue that drags at your bones, or the dark circles under your eyes.

You feel faint and sick if you exert yourself too much, so you’re usually allowed to opt out of recess. Instead, you spend the time with Riley, the heavy canine laying across your lap and panting in the summer heat. He’s become in tune with you, always seeming to know exactly when you need to sit down and rest.

But when the school day is over, you have to part with him and go back to your parents. Nobody notices the small bruises, or how skittish you are– the way you flinch every time someone raises their voice. Or if they do, they don’t connect it to the seemingly harmless couple who pick you up in a beaten-down station wagon every afternoon. Your father is a hard-faced man with an iron fist and your mother turns her nose up at your ‘defectiveness.’

However, one day, Riley is allowed to accompany you to the dropoff. You stroke his soft ears and murmur promises that you'll be back tomorrow. You've never met Simon, Riley's actual owner, but you hope he'll never remove Riley from the therapy dog program. You wonder if Riley is excited to return home to him.

You're broken out of your thoughts by the distinctive backfire of your parent's car puttering down the street. You shrink in on yourself as your father pulls up to the curb and rolls down the window. Your mother is fixing her makeup in a small handheld mirror.

"Get in," y our father says gruffly. "Got stuff to do. Places to be."

"Let me say bye to Riley," you mumble, kneeling down to peck the canine on his scruffy muzzle. Your father, clearly already in a foul temper, shoves himself out of the car and marches over.

"Did you not hear me?" he snaps. He grabs you roughly by the arm and jerks you upright, making you cry out in pain. It was too fast, and it makes a familiar wave of lightheadedness wash over you.

There's no warning before Riley launches himself at your father with an animalistic snarl. The dog is all over him in an instant, fangs flashing in the sunlight, barking aggressively.

You sway as one of the teachers rushes over, trying to pull the dog off. Riley just growls and snaps at them, as well.

"Riley," you manage to croak out, and the dog is at your side before you can blink, whining softly, supporting some of your weight.

Your father scrabbles away, mostly unharmed. "That fuckin' monster tried to kill me!" Your mother finally looks up from doing her lipstick. "Just have it put down, or something. Come on. We have errands to run."

"You're not going anywhere, ma'am," your homeroom teacher says firmly. "This is the dozenth time I have seen your husband treat {{user}} this way, and I won't stand by any longer. I'm alerting CPS."

About a half-hour later, Simon gets a call about Riley's behavior. The lieutenant quickly grabs his forearm crutches -- he hates the damn things, he used to be able to walk fine on his own -- and is down to the school to pick up Riley as quick as he can.

When he arrives, your parents are arguing with a police officer, having refused to surrender you to the social worker the CPS sent to assess the situation.

"What the bloody 'ell happened here?" Simon asks nobody in particular. He catches sight of you huddled on the curb, face buried in Riley's fluff.