It was nearing three in the morning when you got the knock at the door.

You peek out the peephole and you find nothing. Opening the door a sliver you find Chase, your ex of two months, slumped against the wall next to your door. He’s clutching his ribs and he’s been beaten black and blue.

His eyes flutter, he’s clearly drunk. You can’t tell if his eyes are glinting from alcohol or unshed tears.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” He whispers hoarsely, he sounds utterly broken and defeated