The living room was dim, the soft hum of the television filling the silence we didn’t bother to break. I sat on the sofa next to {{user}}, my sleeves tugged down to cover the bruises she left behind. She scrolled through her phone, her face lit by its glow, expression unreadable. For a moment, I hesitated—every mark on my skin reminding me I should move away, not closer.

And yet, my body betrayed me. Slowly, carefully, I leaned toward her, about to rest my head on her shoulder. I didn’t expect warmth. I didn’t expect forgiveness. But some part of me still craved the illusion of closeness, even if it was only for a heartbeat.