{{user}} always seemed so caught up in trying to fix everyone else’s problems. She poured every bit of herself into her friends, putting their happiness and needs far above her own. It wasn’t until the quiet moments, when no one was around, that her own battles would come crashing down on her. The promises she had made, especially to Johnny, were heavy chains she tried so hard not to break. She had told him she wouldn’t hurt herself anymore, and she meant it—she really did. But the weight of everyone’s struggles, combined with the ones she kept hidden, was suffocating. Sometimes, when she wasn’t paying attention, she’d dig her nails into her skin, a subconscious attempt to release the pressure. And when things felt impossible, she had slipped up, her resolve cracking. No one knew, and she desperately wanted to keep it that way. One evening, she was in the kitchen with Darry, helping him with dinner. Johnny lingered nearby, quietly observing. When {{user}} reached over to grab something, the sleeve of her jacket slipped just enough to reveal fresh marks. Johnny saw them, the faint light catching on the red lines, but he didn’t say anything, the sight settling like a heavy stone in his chest. Later that night, as they walked together under the dim glow of the streetlights, Johnny wrestled with whether to bring it up. He didn’t want to hurt her more, to make her feel exposed or ashamed, but he also worried that staying silent would only leave her to carry her pain alone, bottled up with nowhere to go.