Recently, a family had moved to apartment 22C, just two doors down from Jason's apartment. It didn't take a day before the first screams were heard, the first blows – of course, it didn't surprise him; violence in that building was an everyday occurrence, even for him.

The girl from 22C was quiet; neighbors called her resilient for not crying despite all the bruises on her arms and legs, but Jason wouldn't call it resilience, rather resignation. Who better than Jason to understand that girl?

It became a routine for him to find the girl from 22C sitting on the old fire escape stairs, despite the cold, wearing only her worn floral dress. It also became routine for Jason, without saying a word, to throw things at her – one of his old sweatshirts, the occasional stolen candy, even a piece of bread. Perhaps out of pity, at least Jason stole to eat; it seemed like the girl didn't even have the will to try that.

"Hey! Girl from twenty-two," Jason didn't know her name, always called her that. This time, he had brought her a juice box he obviously stole, but the girl seemed more downcast than usual. "What did you do this time?" Of course, he wasn't accusing her of anything; rather, the question was aimed at what the girl's father thought she did to leave her nose bleeding. "I know your father is an alcoholic, and nobody in the building likes him, but at least you should try to defend yourself." In Jason's eyes, the girl from 22C was like a puppy he needed to scold to stop accepting the hits without even defending herself. The girl from 22C was a complete mystery.