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"I don't know exactly what happened, but I think you might've saved my life somehow."

I took my phone out and dialled 9-1-1. As I made my report to the dispatcher, I looked at Luna with concern; she sat silently on her stool idly scratching Jasmine's ear. Within minutes, the police came the same time Mark's eyes fluttered open. The police officer, Tim Smith I think his name was, that visited me in the hospital walked in and observed everything in the room, including Mark. He nodded and looked at me with knowing eyes: this was an old school case of domestic violence. Before Luna and I even made our statements, they already know who truly was at fault.

"We'll take him from here," the officer said. "I'm sorry for the mess and what he's done, but we'll make sure he won't do it again. Take care, Barron." The officer offered to take Luna and I home and even gave us some resources of nearby women shelters, but I agreed to bring her home. After the other officer patched up Luna's wound, the other handcuffed Mark, who glared at me with hateful eyes as he passed me. As soon as the police cars sped away, Luna and I (and Jasmine) were alone once again. I looked around the room helplessly. Mark did a number of damage on her sculptures.
"Hey," I called out to her, tip-toeing my way around the room. "Just tell me when and I'll take you home, okay?"

"Take me home," she said immediately.

After closing and locking up the studio, I offered her my arm and together we walked towards her apartment in silence.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

When we arrived at Luna's apartment, her aura shifted. I could feel her anger.

Jasmine happily walked into the clean space, but I awkwardly stood near the doorway not wanting to invade her space. Luna turned on a podcast once she walked into what I assume was her living room, but her attention was elsewhere. She stood near the couch.

"Coming or going. Which one are you, Alice?" Her voice sounded irritated. Under the moonlight, her drawn face looked conflicted. In a trance-like manner, I entered in and gingerly closed the door. Nonchalantly, I took my hoodie and shoes off, then flopped onto her grey couch.

"Staying if you want me to," I said gently. "If you want me to go, I can."

Please don't tell me to leave, I thought to myself. I wanted her to talk to me, but I didn't want to push her.

A couple of minutes passed until Luna navigated her way to the couch and sat at the end of it. She sighed and leaned back.

"Stay," she whispered. I exhaled slowly and turned my body towards her. In the state she was in, she needed someone to hear her out. Comfort comes in different forms, but I'd do whatever she feel was adequately enough.

"Do you want to talk?"

She chuckled, but didn't answer directly.

A minute has passed until her body turned towards me.

"I don't know where to start," she said, trying to hide the quiver in her voice. "There's so much I want to say and explain, but," her hand flew up in defeat. Trying to get into a comfortable position, I stretched my legs out on the couch.

"You can start anywhere and anytime you want. I got all night."

From that statement on, she began to explain her story.

Mark was her first boyfriend she dated. They met at an art gallery where one of her sculptures was exhibited. Back then, he introduced himself as a college student majoring in business and complimented her work. From there, they hit it off, became friends and later as an official couple. This was two years ago and they've been together ever since.

Everything was going well until Luna sensed some changes around Mark.

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