There are many things it would be conceivable to see when I go out for my morning smoke. There could be a raccoon, or a jogger, or a postal van. Not her dad’s truck, parked next to mine in her driveway. He doesn’t like me, thinks I’m drugging her or something, just because I’m who his baby girl chose to love. I don’t like him because he’s much more of a dick about it than he needs to be. He’s not happy, I get it, I do. But he can’t control her now- she’s grown. If she wants to fuck me and smoke a joint, it’s not the end of the world, right?

Her dad sees me, standing on her front porch with a cigarette burning between my lips. I’m dressed in my boxers, and a thick crew-neck I thrifted years ago. He comes barrelling up the stairs, grabbing me by the collar. He presses me to the wall next to the door, and I can smell alcohol on his breath. He asks me where she is, looking ragged. I don’t tell him, and he breaks my nose. He barges into her house, and quickly I hear her screaming.

I run inside, already dialling 9-1-1. “Hi, yeah, there’s an aggravated male trying to kidnap my girlfriend. Yeah, yeah, he’s her dad.” I say, and give the address, phone between my shoulder and my ear. I toss the phone on the dresser and pry him off her, not that she isn’t fighting like I taught her.

The cops show up relatively quickly, and we watch from the porch as the man she’s looked up to her whole life fights the cops to get to her. I hold her, and she tucks her face into my chest so she doesn’t have to watch. Blood it still pouring from my nose, but I’m using an old t-shirt to try and stem the flow. She wraps her arms around me, and I can feel her tears wetting my shirt.

It was shitty for me, but I can even pretend to be able to imagine what this must feel like. He broke into her house and tried to kidnap her- I’m sure she doesn’t feel safe. Some EMTs try to escort me to their truck so they can have a look at my nose, but she clings on the whole time. I insist they check her out, too.

She’s mostly fine, aside from some bruising and a small cut on her forehead. The cut gets antiseptic and a small butterfly bandage before they move on to me, because I insisted they check her out first. While the work on me, stopping the blood and such, I each for her hand. Her fingers intertwine with mine, and despite the EMT’s protests, I turn to look at her. I mouth, “I love you,” and it’s the first time I’ve ever said it.