***

(tw: physical and mental abuse, and suicidal thoughts)

She did get lost on her way back home; Billy was right about that, too. And Sophie knew the longer she took, the more irate her father was going to be. The streetlights dimmed around her as the cold bit at her bare skin. She folded her arms over her chest, hugging herself as she finally reached Cherry Lane.

Sophie dragged her tired feet down the road, spotting her house in the distance. Billy's car was nowhere to be seen, and she presumed he was still at the party, hooking up with some girl. She had to face Neil's wrath alone.

Like at Steve's house, they also hid a key under the mat. But, unlike the Harringtons, the Hargroves knew they weren't likely to be robbed. The items in their family home weren't valuable enough to take.

Quietly, she twisted the lock and turned the doorknob. It released a long, awkward squeak to her dismay. Sophie was smart, however -- she didn't open the door all the way. She left a large enough gap for her to effortlessly slip inside, closing it behind her once she was safely inside.

Sophie listened out for any creaking floors or disgruntled moans, but the house remained silent. A self-assuring sigh escaped her lips, believing she was in the clear.

Nevertheless, as she took a step forward, there was a soft click in the corner of the living room. A lamp flickered, banishing the darkness and revealing her father on the couch. He glared at her, his expression stern. On the wooden coffee table, a bottle of scotch sat before him -- his attitude tends to worsen when under the influence.

She was caught like a deer in headlights, and Sophie knew it filled Neil Hargrove with stoic joy. "Where have you been?"

God, she didn't want to be the one making excuses; that was her brother's job. "Billy and I got held up at the party. It got a bit hectic."

"And where is your brother?" he inquired, meshing his fingers together on his lap.

Their father took pleasure in disciplining his son, calling him a pussy and yelling at him for making simple mistakes. Sophie wanted to keep him out of trouble for once, but she knew it meant sacrificing herself. "Uh, he's dropping someone off. He'll be back later."

It was plausible. After all, he was the one driving.

"That's strange." Neil straightened up, wiping some whisky off his chin. There was a pause as he sauntered towards her, his face half-shrouded in darkness. He stood a few feet before her, uttering. "Maxine said the exact same thing."

He never got her name right, but it's not like he cared anyway. Neil desired retaliation because it meant he could fight back -- he knew he'd win.

Max was nowhere to be seen, most likely knackered from her night out trick-or-treating. She had no one to back her up, so all she could do was lie. "Yeah, um, there was a problem with-"

"Don't lie to me, Sophie." Neil dismissed his daughter's words as moonshine, seeing through her falsehood. "Where is your brother?"

She angled her head away from him, murmuring. "... I don't know."

Neil leaned closer. "What was that?"

"I don't know," Sophie repeated, her voice meek.

"You don't know?"

"I lost track of him at the party."

"He was supposed to pick Maxine up at nine-thirty." He informed her with a tight glower. "Did you know that?"

Of course, that's why she lied as well. Sophie imagined her stepsister on a random street, freezing in her little boilersuit with only the Michael Myers mask to keep her skull warm. And the machete was blunt, so if someone tried to assault her, she wouldn't have been able to fight them off.

She shook her head, meeting his gaze for a brief second. "No -- no, I didn't."

Her father tilted his head back, wiping his hand down his face. He huffed, putting his hands on his hips. "I know he's slightly older than you, but I trust you to keep him in line."

God, if she had known about Max, she would have left the party sooner. Sophie folded her arms again, her chest caving in. "I know. I'm sorry."

But that wasn't the end of it. Neil would deal with his son when he ultimately returned -- but, as of this moment, he had his daughter right where he wanted her.

"Now, where have you been?" he demanded to know.

"I was taking a friend home. I got a bit lost on the way back-" she said.

"Enough with the lies, Sophie." Her father clenched his jaw. "Honestly, I did not raise you to be a liar-"

Sophie's mouth gaped, sputtering her words."But I'm -- I'm not lying."

She was swiftly met with a slap across her face. It left a warm stinging sensation that spread through the nerves in her cheek. He closed his fist, leaving one finger to point at her as she rubbed her blushing skin. 

"What have I told you about talking back to me?" His daughter said nothing, bowing her head. "Tell me what happened because I know for certain that you were not wearing this pink shit earlier."

For a semi-alcoholic, he was quite observant. "My shirt got messed up -- I had to throw it out!"

"Stop lying!"

"I'm not lying-!"

Her sentence was interrupted by Neil's fist, his knuckles colliding with her other cheek, right below her eye. Sophie was knocked off her feet, crashing to the ground with a harsh thud. her breath sawed in and out, the pain overwhelming her.

She should have expected it, especially from him.

"I did not raise a slut for a daughter." He hissed, his unforgiving words cut from her, reopening past wounds.

One thing was for sure -- she didn't want to stick around for the true beating.

As he reached for his belt buckle, too distracted by the shifting metal, Sophie scampered back onto her feet and sprinted out of the room before he could even react. She heard him call after her. "Hey!"

Sophie fled into her bedroom, slamming the door behind her and sealing it with the bolt Billy installed for her. Of course, she was unsure whether it would hold him for long.

"Don't you run away from me!" he yelled.

With her remaining strength, she delicately pulled her drawer in front of the doorway. A hand-painted vase nearly toppled, but Sophie caught it just in time. He tried the handle, yanking it towards him. 

"Open this door!" He pounded on the wood. "Come out and face me, you little bitch!" Sophie sunk to the ground, leaning back against the drawers. She struggled to contain her sobs as he continued to degrade her. "You're just like your mother, you know -- always running away!"

Her mind screamed for him to leave her alone, yet no words left her mouth. He must have woken Max and Susan up by now, or maybe they were used to the screaming.

It's lucky her Walkman was nearby, bearing her favourite song in cassette tape format. She snatched it off the floor, pulling the headphones over her years. Neil's muffled voice still reverberated as she pressed play, the soft click acting as her saving grace.

Her eyes squeezed shut, the tape whirring for a few seconds. Then, the familiar guitar riff rang through, followed by the authoritative singing voice of Debbie Harry. "Colour me your colour, baby. Colour me your car. Colour me your colour, darling, I know who you are..."

When she was little, before they got locks on their doors, Billy and Sophie would hide in this large wardrobe in the spare bedroom. They would stay there until the yelling ceased or when their mom would find them. She would hold her children in her arms and wipe their tears away.

Sophie wanted that back. She wanted to feel loved again.

Her drawer stopped shaking behind her back. The noise outside ceased when the familiar rev of a car engine pulled up to their house -- Neil had a new target now.

And though she knew her brother was next to get hurt, still, she sat on the floor, frozen in fear as Call Me continued to play through the Walkman. For some reason, the song granted her some kind of peace from the calamity outside.

***

During the night, once the fury quelled at last, Sophie was able to treat the swelling on her face before she went to bed, though her slumber did not last as long as she'd hoped.

That morning, she woke up with a splitting headache. Alcohol and abuse were not a good mix. The ice pack lay melted on her pillow, but the swelling had diminished to her luck. A developing bruise settled on her cheekbone, marked temporarily by her father's bony knuckles.

She ran herself a warm, soapy bath, needing to refresh herself before heading to school. Usually, it would make her feel better. The lonely child inside of her yearned for the foam baths her mom used to create. She'd wear bubble crowns and watch them fly up to the ceiling, smelling like ripe strawberries every time.

But the baths were less foamy now and more milky-white. Sophie could see her despairing face in the water, staring back at her in discontent. She could drown right here if she wanted. Water could envelop her lungs and take her to an early grave -- she'd just let it happen. Let her body sink for eternity, floating in the endless dark. Would it be so bad to let go?

Only a few people would care about her demise, and the strangers in her new high school would simply dub her "Billy's dead twin". She was stuck between wanting to remain invisible and desiring to be seen.

"Hey, Soph..." But how she wanted to leave this place behind and the hell along with it. "Sophie...?" She just wanted to drown -- it was like death was calling to her. "Sophie!"

Unfortunately, it was only her brother, who returned her to reality. She sat up, placing her wet hands over the edge. "What?!"

"How long are you gonna be in there for?" he asked through the door.

Her brows furrowed. "Don't you have your own bathroom?"

"Yeah, but I left my mousse in there. I need it." Of course, when was he not obsessed with his hair? It was a strange fixation of his on most days.

Sophie raised her foot, gently kicking the soapy water as she grumbled. "What you need is to chop off that mullet."

"What?" Billy spoke.

She raised her voice again, leaning towards the door. "I said I'll be out in a minute!"

"Okay!" he responded. "Geez..." His hammering footsteps faded as he returned to his bedroom, leaving his sister in solitary again.

The skin on her fingers wrinkled, as did her toes. Sophie took a deep breath and pulled herself out of the bath, her wet soles smacking the plastic mat. After removing the plug from the drain, she reached for a large towel and wrapped herself up. She squeezed her hair and patted down the droplets on her body before leaving.

Her bedroom was cold -- Neil must have turned the heating down. But the chill did not deter her, finding a thick, blue sweater in her drawers.

Once she was dressed for school and her hair wasn't so damp, she strolled over to her dressing table, intending to cover up her bruise with foundation and some cheap concealer she bought. Yet, when she reached the little table, Sophie noticed her things were misplaced. The box of blonde peroxide was knocked over and her hairbrush was upside down.

Sophie's chin trembled, her teeth chattering. She yanked the tiny drawers, only to reveal nothing inside. The colour in her rosy cheeks drained as she realised that all her powders, lipsticks and eyeshadows were gone.

Within seconds, Sophie dashed out of her bedroom and marched into the communal area of the house. Her father sat by the dining table with a newspaper in one hand and a cup of black coffee in the other. His wife, Susan, sat opposite feasting on a pastry. Max was in the living room, reading a textbook from school, but her head shot up when Sophie entered.

"Who's been in my room?" she interrogated the blended family. "My makeup's gone."

Neil barely tore his eyes away from his paper. "I've confiscated those products for the time being."

Her feet were rooted to the spot, her gaze locked on her father. "You can't do that."

He had no right, especially when she had a bruise forming -- a bruise he was at fault for. Normally, his rage towards his children would mellow once dawn approached, but since their argument was left unresolved, Sophie could only assume he was still mad at her.

"I'm your father," he stated, "I can do what I like."

"But what about-?"

"Should teach you a lesson."

The fuck is he on about? Teaching her a lesson? What was there to be learnt here? She did nothing wrong.

She gripped onto the thick sleeves of her sweater, her voice trembling. "What if people ask questions?"

Neil huffed, putting his coffee down. "Just say you fell."

Her jaw dropped. "On my face?"

"Do you think they'll believe you if you said it was me?" He pivoted on his hip, staring her dead in the eyes. The air hitched in her throat, holding back a soft cry; he had rendered her silent. "I didn't think so."

The thing about Neil Hargrove is that he dressed like a family man with a striped polo shirt and slacks. He was all about appearances, keeping the alcoholism and negative attitude under wraps. It was the perfect disguise.

Susan swallowed a chewed bit of pastry. "I think you look beautiful without it, sweetie."

Sophie rolled her eyes, a light sigh escaping her throat. "You would say that."

Her father turned back to his paper, hoping to resume his activity. "Don't be rude to your mother."

"She's not my mother." Her nostrils flared as she picked at a loose thread dangling from her sleeve.

"Apologise." He closed the newspaper, planting both feet on the ground. Neil hoisted himself from the chair, making a slow approach. His daughter's face turned ashen as he towered over her. "Sophie," she gulped as her fear swiftly returned, "apologise."

She stared down at her feet, mumbling. "Sorry."

He raised his eyebrows. "What was that?"

His daughter met his eyes briefly before glancing at the red-haired woman nearby. She nearly choked on her words, but she also didn't mean to lash out at her. "I'm sorry, Susan."

The woman looked away in shame as Neil hissed at the blonde. "Good girl."

God, she wanted to throw up. His remark sickened her, and this numb pain spread through her body, making her feel worthless.

Her father returned to his coffee, acting as if nothing had happened -- she hated when he did that. Sophie turned around, sulking back to her room in defeat. She let her hair fall in front of her face, hoping to cover up the bruise. And though it meant her sight was limited in her left eye, it was only temporary.

Something cold prodded in her foot as she wandered near her dressing table. She looked down at the worn cream carpet, acknowledging a sliver of silver lodged between threads. Sophie reached down and dug it out with her fingernails, revealing it to be her mother's butterfly necklace. Neil must have shoved it aside when he searched her things.

It was the last thing her mother left her, claiming it would protect her from all the world's evils. Sophie thought it was a sign she'd return, but she was wrong.

And yet, on this day, she decided to place the chain around her neck. She needed some form of love in her life, and if it came in the form of a bejewelled butterfly, then Sophie Hargrove was content.

"Hey, you ready to go?" Billy stood by her doorway, adjusting his denim jacket. She faced away from him, bewildering her brother. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine." She spotted Tina's jumper sprawled on her bed; she had almost forgotten she had it. Sophie grabbed the item. "Just Dad being Dad."

"Isn't he always?" As she spun on her heel, the lock of hair on her face shifted, and she saw Billy's jaw drop. "Shit, your face."

She pulled her hair back into place. "You think I haven't noticed?"

He stepped further into her room, reaching for her. "Did he do that to you just now?"

"No, that's not how bruises work." She brushed his hand aside, not wanting to draw any more attention to it. "He did it last night."

Memories of the wild night before returned to him in an instant, and he shuddered. She noticed his fists clench before his lips tightened into a scowl. "I should have taken you home."

Her arms dropped, hanging limply by her sides. "Yeah, if only you didn't beat up that guy."

"He grabbed your ass." Her brother argued.

"You promised, Billy." She presented him with a judgemental stare. "We don't break promises, remember?" Her brother crossed his arms, his head tilting away from her, displaying little remorse for his actions. She sighed before holding up the jumper. "Look, could you give this back to Tina?"

Sophie stretched her arm, attempting to hand it to him. He looked at the object in her hand, his eyes narrowing. "What, this isn't yours?"

"No, I took it from her house." She told him.

Billy didn't take it, simply eyeing the jumper in confusion. "Why would you steal someone's clothes?"

Her grip tightened on the woollen fabric, wringing it. "I didn't steal it. I borrowed it."

His brows drew together. "Does she know you have it?"

"Well, I kinda wanted to get out of that house as soon as possible." Not only was his fight a gut-wrenching betrayal -- it was humiliating. If everyone knew it started because of her, no one would dare go near her again.

He continued with the questions. "So what happened to the shirt you wore before?"

Sophie hesitated, and she looked away momentarily. After releasing an awkward huff, she folded her arms over her chest, still not meeting his eyes. "I got thrown up on..."

An incredulous look appeared on his face. "Seriously?" 

His lips began to curl, finding some humour in the incident. She scratched the back of her neck, cringing. "Don't laugh."

But he did -- his Adam's apple throbbing against his larynx. "It's just a little funny."

She lightly shoved his left shoulder, yet she did not seem too annoyed. "It's not! It's embarrassing!"

"Alright, alright." His childish giggling ceased. Billy cleared his throat, pursing his lips. "Who did it then?"

Sophie raised her shoulders, biting down on her bottom lip as she shrugged in a lighthearted manner. "No one."

He simpered. "Come on. Who puked on you?"

"If I tell you," she rubbed her jawline, "will you beat him up?"

His eyes shifted back and forth before his head slightly jerked forward. "Do you want me to?"

"No!" This time, she shoved him harder, causing him to shuffle backwards.

Billy let out a rough chuckle, raising his arms in defeat. "Okay, okay!" He tucked his hands into his trouser pockets. "Spill the beans then -- who's the culprit?"

She knew her brother wouldn't like the answer, but she hoped he'd stick to his word now that he was sober. "It was that Harley guy, alright?" 

He lowered his brows. "The guy who tried to hit on you at lunch?"

"Yeah." She replied.

A hint of wrath flickered in his irises and his nose wrinkled, the deep creases in his forehead showing. "I thought I told him to stay away from you."

"No, you didn't. You told him not to say I was pretty, which he didn't, by the way." Sophie affirmed, defending the poor soul. "But it's fine. It was my fault, so don't attack him or anything." 

Billy angled his head to the side, his eyebrows raised. "And how is it your fault?"

"I don't -- I don't want to talk about it." Sophie threw the jumper into his clammy palms. "Just give it back to her, okay?"

His fingers clenched the item of clothing. "Why can't you give it back to her?"

The hair on her face shifted again, only making the bruise more prominent. "Because I don't really want to make eye contact with anyone today."

He lowered his arms, and the jumper's soft fluff scraped against the floor. "Fair enough." Billy nodded before raising his free hand, gesturing. "Come here."

Sophie inhaled deeply, struggling to remain emotionless. She walked over, wrapping her arms around his muscular body. Her face dug into his white tanktop, her eyes glistening with tears. Her brother held her close, feeling a pang of regret for letting her face Neil alone. Billy made a promise to their mother that he would protect her -- and that's what he was doing. If it meant breaking into fights and keeping her away from hormonal boys, then so be it.

But he didn't care what Sophie wanted. He didn't even care how she felt about his actions. Billy had to break a few promises if it meant she'd be safe, yet sometimes, she didn't feel safe around him.

It was this -- this family was the sea trying to drown her. Once, the salt waters comforted her, then her father poisoned the ocean and aimed to drag Billy down with him. She tried her best to keep him close to the surface, but there were times when Sophie wished she wasn't born a Hargrove.

***

She kept to herself the rest of the day, sticking to the shadows of the high school hallways. And though she longed for some form of company, Sophie didn't want any questions asked about her predicament.

As she wandered down the corridor, intending to return her books to her locker, a friendly voice called out to her. "Sophie, wait up!" In the corner of her eye, she saw a mop of mousy, brown-blondish hair appear beside her. "Hey, what's up? I haven't seen you all day. How was your first Hawkins Halloween?"

Sophie shrugged. "It was fine."

Robin's smile dropped. The girl leaned forward slightly, but Sophie turned her head away. "You okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'm just a little hungover from the party, that's all." She didn't want to give Robin the cold shoulder; this girl had already lost enough friends to bear.

She found her locker, twisting the dial. Robin leaned on the fading blue metal, her brows drooping. "You actually went?"

"Billy forced me, but I left after an hour or so." After putting in the right combination, the locker door opened. "I got thrown up on so that kinda soured the mood."

"Ooh, yeah. I've thrown up on someone before. It was during a Christmas play in kindergarten, and it was, like, projectile vomit onto the backside of this random kid -- like full-Exorcist style and..." She acknowledged Sophie's parted lips, stunned. Robin gulped, brushing it off. "... You know what, you don't need to hear about that."

Sophie bobbed her head, placing her books inside. "What about you?"

"I spent my Halloween on the couch watching Carrie, which makes you think about how high school really brings out the worst in people. Honestly, those kids deserved what they got." Her friend rambled.

Having seen the film herself in the past, Sophie was about to agree when her gaze drifted from Robin to the despairing figure of Steve Harrington. And as if he felt eyes glued to him, Steve glanced her way as well. Time appeared to slow for them both, and their apparent staring contest seemed to last forever.

He was the first to break contact, acting like he never saw her as he continued down the hallway. Sophie's gaze followed his every move until he turned a corner and disappeared from view; she was the only person to acknowledge his presence. "Robin?"

She raised her eyebrows, straightening up against the wall of lockers. "Hm?"

"What do you know about Steve Harrington?" she asked.

The question disappointed her. "If I could summarise him in one word," she said with a pinched expression, "asshole. Like, total dingus." Everyone seemed to share a single opinion of this young man, branding him a fool. "Why'd you ask anyway?"

She shook her head, pushing her thoughts aside. "No reason."

Sophie should really stop wondering about this guy's life; it was none of her business and making presumptions wasn't helping. She had to focus on her own life instead of others.

Robin changed the subject, asking. "Hey, have you finished the French assignment yet?"

Now that was something she needed to focus on.

"I tried using a spare dictionary in the library yesterday, but it was barely readable." Its pages had been torn and ripped, and scribbles of inappropriate gestures decorated the white space -- she wasn't sure why she even tried to use it anyway.

"You can use my notes if you want?" she offered.

She glanced back at Robin, her features softening. "You'd do that?"

"Yeah, sure." She pulled her backpack off her shoulder. "I told you I want to run away to France, so I'm basically fluent in the language now." Robin unzipped her bag, searching through jumbles of worn books and old files. "Here you go."

Robin handed her a creased piece of paper with French words scribbled next to the translations. She squinted. "What's that splodge in the corner?"

"I spilt tea all over my desk." It did sound like something she'd do. She has this vague chaotic energy that made her such a likeable person, despite being fairly invisible to their peers. "Not my best move."

Sophie clutched the paper close to her chest. "Thank you."

"No problem." Robin really felt like someone Sophie could fall back on. For a tortured soul, she needed a friend like her. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Yeah, see you." She replied as Robin slung her backpack over her shoulder again and began to walk off, heading home for the day.

The paper crunched in her hands, her fingers grazing the asymmetrical lines where it had been creased. With a grateful smile on her face, she closed her locker door and prepared to leave. Sophie strolled down the hallway, fiddling with her unzipped shoulder bag as she reached the main exit.

The doors were already open by the time she wandered through, slipping the notes into her shoulder bag. The paper scrunched against the fabric as she tugged the zipper, too focused on her bag to notice a figure stepping in front of her.

"Hey." She looked up, once again meeting the eyes of Steve Harrington. Sophie froze, unsure why he was greeting her like an old friend. 

She cleared her throat, throwing her half-zipped bag over her shoulder. "Uh, hi?"

Steve clasped the edge of his blue jacket, making a soft crunch. With his other hand, he rubbed the curvature of his jaw. "You took me home last night, right?"

He did remember her after all, which came as quite a shock. "Yeah?"

Had he been waiting for her to emerge from the school? After spotting her in the hallway, some recognition must have sparked within him, though she was pretty sure he'd rather forget the harrowing night before.

"I just wanted to, er, thank you." He glanced down at his feet for a moment. "I got quite drunk last night."

She pursed her lips, returning a single nod. "You're welcome."

Sophie attempted to walk around him, her arms folding over her chest. He frowned, his eyes following her. Steve acknowledged her unexpected dismay, swiftly catching up to her and stopping the blonde in her tracks. "Sorry, did I -- did I offend you somehow?"

"No, no. I'm just not feeling well today." She told him.

He stared at her face, his eyes widening. "Is that a bruise?"

Immediately, she raised her hand, brushing the darkening mark on her cheek. Steve knew it wasn't there before, which only increased his worry. If something happened to her after she left, he would never forgive himself for putting her in harm's way.

Although, she insisted. "It's nothing."

As she frantically pulled at her hair, attempting to cover it up again, Steve questioned. "Did someone do that to you?"

"It's nothing, Steve-"

"Did Billy-?"

She didn't let him finish that sentence, shoving him back when he got too close. "I said it's nothing!" 

Before he could respond, a loud horn startled the pair. In the parking lot, Billy leaned against the side of his car with one hand pressed against the steering wheel and the other settled on the roof as a tightened fist. She read the stern expression on his face -- the flash of disdain in his body language.

She gulped, briefly glimpsing at Steve. "I have to go."

The boy didn't put up a fight; not a word slipped from his stunned lips. Yet, as she hurried over to her brother's car, he barely tore his eyes away from her. But the glare from Billy Hargrove was boring into his skull, noticing Sophie peering back with a pleading expression.

Steve knew he wasn't wanted, making him feel worse about himself. Ultimately, he turned away, jamming his hands into the pockets of his jeans and marching off.

Once she was within reach, Billy asked her. "Why was Harrington talking to you?"

She gave a nonchalant shrug and replied. "It was just about homework."

"Didn't look like it was about homework." He commented, still eyeing his rival from a distance.

Sophie stopped, wearing a glazed look on her face. "Why do you care?"

Slowly, his head tilted in her direction, and his burning gaze did well to unsettle her. His tone of voice sounded rough, almost spitting his words. "Because I don't want my sister getting with guys like Steve Harrington."

A fleeting, brittle laugh escaped her throat. "I'm not interested in Steve."

She wasn't sure if Billy believed her at first, but as he unclenched his fist, he uttered a soft, "Good." Billy straightened up, observing his sister approach the passenger seat door. "Hey, you're in the back with the twit today."

Her brows furrowed. "What, why?"

"I've got a girl coming over." He answered, digging through his pockets for another cigarette.

Sophie huffed, mumbling to herself. "Of course you do."

***

THANK YOU FOR 1K reads!! I honestly wasn't expecting it considering this has only been out for two months, but thank you so much!!

This would have been out sooner if I wasn't procrastinating and if I didn't have stuff to do, but I think I'm gonna get a bit more free rein over the next few months with writing, so that's a plus. I wanna get this part done as soon as possible as it would encourage me to write more because I really want to tell Sophie's story and explore her relationships with various characters.

I dislike Billy, but I wanted to give him a soft side, especially when it comes to his sister's safety. They've been in the same boat since childhood so I don't think there's any reason to hate her or blame her for things she can't control. And since Sophie kinda resembles their mother, he doesn't want her to get hurt like she did.

BUT. THAT. DOES. NOT. MEAN. WE. JUSTIFY. HIS. ACTIONS.

'Call Me' is going to pop up quite a few times in this fic because, honestly, it's a badass song. I actually have a personal connection to this song. Little two-year-old me used to sing it all the time (even though i didn't know the words).

I hope you enjoyed this chapter and if you did, please vote and leave some comments because I enjoy interacting with you all.

- Alice.