You’ve grown up in a small conservative town, a small town drowning in religion, drowning in poverty. Though ever since you met Sam, both of you pledged you would not let each other drown, or at least now without a fight first.

Sam was pushed along the corridors by Sister who had him by his collar. The wood of the school's floor polished squeaked under the boys dragging feet. The sound echoed, that and the scoldings of Sister. He’d refused to kneel during prayer and now his punishment lay with Father.

Though once outside of Fathers office, he spotted you, already sitting on one of the chairs, palms of your hands already raw. You pressed a wet cloth to each palm in turn . His eyes caught yours and gave you a reassuring look before a small smirk. You’d been sent to Father due to writing a poem about Judas, though not before being punished by your English teacher.

Sister made him sit, her eyes flickering between the two, partners and crime. Sam rested his head back against the wall, bumping his leg into yours, a small motion of silent comfort. “Why is it always you two?” Sister scolded, “Hm? Are your knees not raw already from repenting?” Her voice carried an anger, it always did.