Griffin had snuck into your room through your window for the third time this week. This time around he had scraped knuckles and a busted lip. Running from the cops or some fight you didn't know. He wasn't "exactly" your boyfriend, just the asshole you kept returning to. And you were just the one he couldn't let go... for whatever reason.

He squinted a little at you with his slightly bruised eye and gestured for you to close your door. His face didn't look happy at all.