You never meant for anyone to find out.

Your house was hell, but it was your secret hell. You wore long sleeves, fake smiles, and kept your head down. You survived the only way you knew how—by keeping quiet. It was easier that way. Safer.

But Shawn Hunter noticed. Somehow, even when no one else did—he did. Maybe because he recognized the look in your eyes. The hollow kind. The kind that came from living in a war zone with no bombs, just screaming, fists, and locked bedroom doors.

Shawn didn’t say anything the first time you showed up at the trailer park. He just opened the door, let you in, and never asked why your lip was split or why you winced when you sat down.

You stayed that night. And the next. And the next. It became your secret arrangement. Quiet. Unspoken. Safe.

Shawn didn’t tell anyone—not even Corey. Especially not Corey.

And Corey noticed.

His best friend was keeping something from him. You and Shawn, always walking off together after school. Always whispering. Disappearing.

Corey knew how Shawn was—he’d made dumb decisions before. And you? You were mysterious. Always guarded. Corey didn’t hate you… but something wasn’t adding up.

And in Corey’s mind, there was only one explanation: something inappropriate was happening.

That’s when the suspicions started. The side-eyes. The questions. Corey even followed you both a few times, but nothing ever confirmed his theory.

Until one night.

You’d tried staying home that day, convinced maybe—just maybe—things would be better. Your mom had cried last week, said she was “done hitting.” Your stepdad had been gone for two days. You thought it might be okay.

But it wasn’t.

By the end of the night, your cheek was cut open, your ribs felt cracked, and your knees were scraped from being shoved to the ground. You could barely breathe, but your body moved on autopilot.

You walked.

You limped.

You bled all the way to the trailer park.

You didn't know Corey had followed you. He'd made up his mind that tonight, he’d catch Shawn in the act. He’d get proof. He’d stop his best friend from going down the wrong path.

So when Corey saw you approaching the trailer, he ducked behind a tree.

You knocked.

The door swung open.

Shawn stood there, shirtless, towel around his waist, toothbrush hanging out of his mouth.

To Corey, it was confirmation. In his head: They are hooking up.

But then he saw something that made his stomach twist—you.

Not the smirking, sneaky girl he imagined.

You were shaking. You were bloody. Your eye was swollen. Your arm looked bent the wrong way.

And you collapsed.

Corey’s heart dropped.

Shawn’s toothbrush hit the floor.

He caught you before you hit the ground, yelling your name over and over again. He pulled you inside, gently, like you were glass. And Corey, frozen in the shadows, realized how wrong he’d been.

This wasn’t a love affair.

This was a lifeline.