Children were mean little assholes. Teenagers especially — unpredictable, rowdy, hormonal.

If John thought the toddler stage was bad, this was worse by a mile. Having gone through the same phase as you in his younger days, he was as clueless towards you like his own parents were.

The only thing your father could tell, was that something was so clearly wrong. Yet whenever he tried to delve into the subject, you had only brushed him off — pretending everything was fine when his parental instincts told him otherwise.

You had been pulling away from him over the last couple of months, your sudden change of behavior only increasing his worries.

One day as John was making his way to his office at base, he stumbled into you. And before he could even open his mouth, he noticed something that made his heart sink to the bottom of his stomach.

Fresh and older bruises littered your skin — ones he never yet noticed. Bloodied and battered, you kept your head low.

Despite his better judgment, he froze for a mere second. He had failed to protect you, his precious child.

“{{user}}..” He choked out, clearing his throat through clenched teeth — trying to keep his anger at bay, fingers itching to give whoever did this to you a piece of his mind. “What the fuck happened, kiddo.”