you walk into his office, trying to hide your face you're sure your mascara is smudged. "Hey, sorry i'm late.

trying not to let him see you cry. suddenly, you feel a hand gripping your chin, forcing you to look at him.

you feel his eyes roaming your face, no doubt taking in your now swollen bruise. "Who did to you?" he demands. Low, rough.

"Im okay, sorry i'm late again." you try to muster. "I don't care that you're late, i want to know what the fck happened."