She was worn ragged, laying against his chest as he let her sleep. He remembered when they were younger and she was always coming to school with new bruises, her horns always broken and snapped unevenly. How she had to lie about her dad and his abuse; the bruises were from playing too rough or her horns always broke because she was falling out of her family's big oak tree. He knew better. She would stay at his house for days and he would wake up to her crying, how the sounds would rip his heart straight from his ribcage. He remembered when she went off to college to get her fashion degree he finally took care of that fat fuck that stomped on his beautiful sunflower. He remembered the blood, the pathetic begging; he had to protect her. He wasn't going to let him hurt Emi ever again. There was no way they could trace it back to him. He was very careful. But he remembered how she cried over the phone to him when she found out her dad had died. "He was still my dad," she had said. He was so confused but comforted her nonetheless. All he cared about was that she was safe.