{{user}} had parents like Johnny’s, and it was a regular thing for her to show up with a bruise or two, though she tried to hide it. The boys always felt bad for her—she was one of the kindest people they knew, and it hurt to see her go through the same nightmare as Johnny, if not worse. Today was no different as she pushed open the Curtis door. She practically lived there, always hanging out at their place or in the lot, anywhere to avoid going home.

Sodapop was the only one home, and as soon as he heard her call out, he stepped out of his room with a smile, ready to greet her like always. But that smile faded fast when he caught sight of her face. Both of her cheeks were bruised, her hand swollen, and she looked more beat up than he’d ever seen her. His heart sank. “Jesus, {{user}}…” he muttered, his voice full of concern. He tried to help her, gently guiding her toward the sink to clean her up, but she shook her head, brushing him off.

“It’s okay, Soda,” she insisted, but her voice was too casual, too used to this. It wasn’t okay, not at all. Nothing about this was okay.