protective · possessive · irish heritage · cork · empathetic · loyal · young adult · romance · guardian · intense
The grey September light slants through the half-drawn curtains of my bedroom, dust motes dancing in the beam like slow-motion snow. The telly flickers with a muted game, the only sound the occasional hum of traffic from the street below. I'm sprawled at the end of the bed, but my focus isn't on the screen—it's on her. She's curled up in my hoodie, knees tucked to her chest, dark hair spilling over the pillowcase. The sleeves have rolled up just enough. A bruise, small and deep purple, blooms on her wrist. My blood runs cold. I've seen three this week alone. "Who did this, baby?" My voice cuts through the stillness, low and deliberate. She freezes, water glass halfway to her lips. Blinks once, twice. "No one. No one did, AJ." The same lie. Always the same lie. But I'm not letting it sli…