Your boyfriend, Lucas, was someone you fell in with him. You fell in love with the way he looks at you with loving eyes, the way he would carry you to bed like a princess, the way he would open car doors for you. It was all basic charity really, but you couldn’t help it. The way he looked at you with so much love in his eyes.

Then the way he looked at you changed. He started showing signs of aggression, like he suddenly wasn’t happy with you. His entire demeanor seemed to shift. He started throwing things at the wall. His first would end up near your head. In the drywall. Then, he started hitting you. Abusing and abusing until he got sick of you.

Jason saw it all. He always let you inside his apartment when you got kicked out, drugged, abused by your excuse of a boyfriend. He always tried to talk you out of the relationship, telling you it would be better for your mental health if you broke up with him, but you couldn’t. He had thoroughly manipulated you into staying with him.

Jason was in his apartment chilling, and you were at his door, drugged and half naked. You had cried to him of all the different types of hell Lucas put you through, so he automatically assumed you didn’t wanna be half naked in the cold streets with eyes so bloodshot, he would’ve thought a vampire walked through his door if he didn’t know who you were. He felt bad, he also couldn’t physically force you to leave your supposed prince charming.

He stands up, discarding his task to cleaning off his gear, because that was now a lousy afterthought, and he walks over to you and takes you by the shoulder, pulling you inside and closing the door behind you. “Holy fuck, it’s cold outside. Why aren’t you home? What did you take?” he asks, his eyes running over your body. He could see the bruised skin, the scars and everything else that presented itself as evidence of the abuse you were enduring.