But I know someday I'll make it out of here

Police sirens.

Blue and red lights.

Shouting.

Handcuffs.

Crying.

Bruises.

Cuts.

Blood.

Luke.

Holding.

Me.

"Shh... It'll be okay. It'll all be fine. He's gone now," he whispered as I cried into his neck.

"H-How did you f-find me?"

"I saw the bruises on your face and the, uh, the scars on your arms. I, um, followed you back here to make sure you were okay and that you wouldn't do anything stupid. I'm glad I did."

Bruises?

That surprised me.

If I looked so beaten up, then why did no one in town bat an eye?

Were people really that careless now?

Is that what the world had come to?