Two.

Mystery POV.

The party was quite clearly long over as I stepped through the threshold of the mansion. As my eyes scanned the damage of the front room I could feel the anger sinking through my veins, he was so reckless. Every single weekend I come back to the same sight, cups strewn across the floor, beer pong balls scattered around and the foul stench of alcohol thick in the air.

I could already guess what the bathroom counters looked like, white powder sticking to each crevice. Waiting patiently for me to come and disturb the silence surrounding the untold secrets each person had shared within the private room.

My eyes roll immediately as I stare at the kitchen sides, bottles knocked over. Liquor pouring from the marble countertops and creating large puddles on the hard floor. I catch myself in the mirrored fridge and almost cringe, I myself, looked like I had just recovered from a heavy weekend.

Bags hung from my blue eyes, standing to attention in the dimmed light shining from above. Brown hair messed from my frantic hands running through it, I was stressed enough at the thought of what would be waiting for me here. Luckily this wasn't the worst I had seen it.

As I was looking around, figuring out where the hell to start. I heard the sound of heavy footsteps, quick footsteps. This person was clearly in a hurry to get away from their one night stand.

This wasn't uncommon for me, the awkward encounter of a woman running from one of the many bedrooms, escaping the mistake she surely made last night. As the footsteps neared I walked to the front room, ready to point the girl in the direction of the front door.

As she rounded the corner I opened my mouth to speak but my words got caught as I took her in. Blood was running down her thighs, her feet were bare and her clothes were in tatters.

Her face looked swollen, bright red and bruised above her eyebrows. She was frantic, in that moment I reminded myself to take in the memory of her. Encase it ever came forward that she was harmed here.

This one, this was uncommon. Everything else I had found tonight was a normal occurrence. But staring at the space where the small, frail, blonde haired girl had paused for only half a second before darting out of the door like her ass was on fire, I knew something bad had happened in this house.

Something worse than usual, something over the line.

I repeat the memory in my brain, trying to solidify all of the components of her body, bruises laid upon her wrists and thighs. In the shape of hand prints, for them to form so quickly she must've been held extremely tight. From the way her clothes hung in rags on her, top ripped from the neck down the side of her body, her skirt torn in spaces at her waist. I could sense the fear from her, it came off in waves.

There was only one reason she would be so scared, in such a state. I knew I needed to ascend the stairs and find out where exactly she had come from, approach the culprit and sit down for a long hard chat before taking them to the police station. But the sinking feeling in my stomach, the shaking of my hands and the cold sweat over my skin proved that I knew what I was doing was wrong, as I continued to clean the living room. Pretending I hadn't seen the broken girl, or noticed the facts, the proof. The evidence of the crime that had been committed tonight.

I wasn't ready to accept that he was past help, I had to keep hope. For my own sanity, even at the expense of someone elses.