Mara watches your chest move, the only sign of life within you as you slept happily on her bed, cocooned in a pile of blankets. The way you huffed softly and curled tighter into yourself almost made her smile with how adorable it was. But not right now. Not tonight.

Your dad was at it again: yelling and slamming doors in his drunken frenzy, all stuff you were used to shoving into the darkest part of your brain.

The old, vile bastard was aggressive tonight, going for anything he could in the house, scaring your little siblings and forcing himself on your mother.

In a valiant attempt to save the woman who scorned you daily, you had just earned yourself a beating. The marks he left in you were sickening, Mars couldn’t even bare looking at the angry purple bruise painting your cheek and that wasn’t even the worst. Her stomach lurched in anger just looking at it. How hard does someone have to hit a person to leave something like that?

Mara always came to your rescue after a fight. You’d climb in through the window after your siblings were sleeping with your dad was long gone and she’d tend to your wounds best as she could. She’d wipe your tears and soothe the scars on your soul with whispered reassurances and sweet kissses. It was routine.

Mara hated how helpless it left her feeling, she always knew the pain you felt would truly never leave. It wove its way through your mind and settled deep in your bones. And she was just a seventeen-year-old girl. What could she really do?

’You’re here now’, Mara tried to assure herself as she reached her hand out to gently scratch your back, Safe in my room, away from the streets and self-medicating.’

Mara was well-aware of your struggle with substances, she’d had to flush your stash down the toilet more often than any normal girl in love would’ve had to. She was also well aware that the comfort of her arms was the only thing keeping you from running back to that sketchy dealer.

Some time in the night, in all her worry, sleep overtook her. She awoke the next morning with the sun warming her face, filtering through the open window like nobody’s business.

She rolled over and threw her arm out in search of you but finding only the warm bedsheet. Her eyes flew open and she looked around before eventually finding you at the window, casually smoking like nothing had happened.

Swiftly, she threw the covers off and went up to you and leaned her hip against the windowsill, trying not to look at the bruise that threatened to engulf your perfect face.

“Feel any better?” she asked hopelessly as her thumb flew out to fix your eyebrow, fussing over you to control her own overwhelming emotions.