From the look on her face, she would like nothing better than to give me a black eye to match her own.

“In the living room, under the coffee table,” she finally mutters.

My injuries haven’t exactly healed, so I can’t move very fast. By the time I retrieve the first aid kit and return, I walk in on her taking off her shirt. She’s wearing a sports bra underneath, but I can see that her entire back and both sides are littered with bruises. I can’t control my sharp intake of breath.

Her ...