JJ flinched as his dad screamed at him for the third time this week, drunk again. It was only Tuesday, sadly, which meant plenty more screaming and throwing and hitting was to come later in the week. It would have been more, but JJ’s dad never drank on Sundays; he was an alcoholic, but also a strict Catholic.

JJ nursed the forming bruise under his eye as he scrambled to his room, his father cursing and yelling that he wished JJ had been hit by a car when he was a baby. He managed to escape into his small room, hearing the lock click behind him; his father had locked him in.

JJ was 17, had just turned it too. He climbed into bed with his clothes still on and closed his eyes before he heard a knock on his window. Looking over, his eyes widened as he recognized Della grinning at him mischievously. He rushed over and opened the window, whispering. “What are you doing?!”