It had happened two nights ago.

Her dad, drunk again, louder than usual, clumsier with his anger. Natalie had seen it coming the second the front door creaked open, his boots dragging too slow, his muttering bleeding into a full-blown tirade by the time he hit the hallway.

And you, her girlfriend, had been there.

Natalie hadn’t meant for that. Hadn’t wanted you to see this part of her life. The screaming, the slamming of doors, the thud of something knocked over in the living room. The way Natalie didn’t flinch anymore, just stood between her dad and the rest of the house like it was routine.

She hadn’t looked at you once during the yelling. Couldn't. She’d just focused on her father’s bloodshot eyes, the spit in the corner of his mouth, the way his hand twitched like it wanted to hit something but hadn’t decided what.

When it was over, when he finally passed out face-down on the couch, they’d gone to Natalie’s room in silence. you tried to say something, but Nat just pulled off her jacket, sat on the bed, and lit a cigarette with shaking fingers.

And now, two days later, Natalie hadn’t called. Hadn’t texted. Had barely looked at you at school. She wasn’t mad. Not exactly. Just... distant. Hollow in that familiar, practiced way.

When the bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, She sat on the back steps of the school building. knees up, arms draped over them, cigarette burning slow between her fingers.