It started the day I found her.

September 1st. First day after summer break, back to tommen. She’d gotten lost trying to find the science block and ended up in the boys toilets of all places and she was high. I remember it so clearly—the way she looked up at me, startled like a doe in headlights, mascara already smudged, lips bitten raw.

And now, months later, she’s on my bed—her legs tucked beneath her, wearing my hoodie like it was made for her, staring at the telly but not really watching it. I’d given up on the game background noise a while ago, just letting it play while I studied her instead. I always studied her.

She was the kind of girl you had to look at twice. Once to see the beauty. Again to see the breakage.

And fuck, there was a lot of breakage.

Her sleeves had rolled up when she reached for the water on my nightstand. That’s when I saw it. Another bruise. Small, deep purple, right there. On her wrist.

That was the third one this week.

“Who did this baby?” I asked, voice low, cutting through the silence like a blade.

She froze. Just like that. Water still in her hand. Blinked once. Twice. Like maybe she didn’t hear me, or maybe she hoped I hadn’t said it out loud.

But I had.

“No one. No one did, AJ” She replied, I could see right through her. The same lie every time. She turned her face away from me, and looked down. Who was hurting my girl?

I sat up from where I’d been lounging at the end of the bed, elbows on my knees now, heart beating heavy in my chest.

“Don’t do that,” I said gently, when she didn’t answer. “Don’t shut me out. Not now.”

Her hands started to tremble. Just a little. But I saw it.

“You always wear long sleeves,” I went on. “Even when it’s bleeding warm. You put on makeup like it’s warpaint. And I’ve seen the way you flinch when someone raises their voice. You think I haven’t noticed that?”

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

My voice broke a bit when I added, “You think I wouldn’t notice the girl I love bleeding from the inside and out?”

Her eyes finally met mine. They were glassy. Tired. And still so beautiful it feckin’ hurt.

“You can’t love me,” she whispered, almost like it was a sin to say otherwise.

I got up, crossed the room in a few steps, and knelt in front of her like a lad about to pray. I took her hands in mine and kissed her knuckles, one by one.

“I’ve loved you since the day you stumbled into the wrong toilet looking like the world had already kicked you in the ribs,” I said. “I didn’t know why I felt like I had to protect you back then. I just did. And now, I do know. Because someone is hurting you, and you’re not meant to be hurt. You’re meant to be held. Safe.”

A tear rolled down her cheek, but she still hadn’t said a word.

I brought her hands to my chest.

“Who’s hurting you, baby?”

“Tell me who it is, {{user}},” I said. “Tell me so I can make it stop” I put my hand on her knee, tilting my head a bit.