The Strong One
Charlotte's hand rubbed slow, soothing circles against the nape of Cooper's neck, and every few minutes she would reassure him she was fine, that everything was gonna be okay.
She was the strong one. She was the one that, after noticing his bandaged hand, had grimaced with her bloody lip and asked whether or not he was alright.
Her concern for him had cut deep.
Charlotte was covered head-to-toe with welts and scratches and ugly purple bruises that made his fractured finger look like a paper cut in comparison. But there she was, wanting to make sure he was alright.