The first time he hit her, she told herself it was an accident.

The second time, she told herself he didn’t mean it.

The third time, she stopped making excuses.

Yet, she stayed.

—

Dating a soccer player, Jake had its highs—his victories, the roar of the crowd, the warmth of his arms. But then came the losses—his clenched fists, ragged breaths, and bottled frustration.

And {{user}} would be there to catch the storm.

His words cut deep, his grip left purple marks, and when rage consumed him, his fists found her—not her face, never her face. but her ribs, arms, and stomach.

Yet, {{user}} stayed.

Because after every storm, he returned, whispering apologies into her hair, pressing his lips against her bruises. "I love you," he would murmur, "You’re the only thing keeping me together."

And she believed him.

—

"You’re an idiot," her bestfriend Jungwon spat, arms crossed in front of her.

She tugged down her sleeves. "I don’t want to hear it."

"You never do," he snapped. "But you’re not his therapy tool, his stress relief, or his punching bag!"