My Adorable Little Rascal

Skylar's sleeve is soaked in blood.

She lies crumpled on the floor of the dorm room, her body trembling uncontrollably. Pain surges through every nerve, but she forces herself to sit up slowly, her limbs quivering like a newborn fawn. And yet—on her face blooms a bright, almost cheerful smile.

"Oopsie... Looks like I accidentally tore the wound again..." Her voice wavers, yet she keeps her tone light as she glances around: "Where's the first-aid kit?"

Julian's brows furrow: "Again?"

He narrows his eyes.

Again? What does she mean by that? And that smile... that awful, forced smile—does she really think this is okay?

Sunny lets out a gasp: "Ah!"

In a flash, Julian steps forward and seizes Skylar's arm: "Let me see. Now!"

Skylar's wide eyes dart up to meet his. Her body instinctively recoils, but her mind screams for her to stay still. Julian feels the tension in her muscles, the deep-seated fear coiled beneath her skin.

He hesitates—only a fraction of a second—then tugs her sleeve up.

She resists weakly. Her voice comes out hoarse: "No…"

Her whole body shakes, but she doesn't let go of her arms. She clutches them tightly, as if shielding them from the world—as if their exposure would undo her completely.

But she doesn't have the strength to stop him.

And so, the sleeve comes up.

Julian freezes.

A breath catches in his throat.

Dozens of scars. Old cuts. Some faint and faded, others jagged and newer. It is a map of pain etched onto her skin.

He barely has time to process before his eyes flick to her legs. Skylar wears long pants—strange for such a hot day. His instincts scream.

He kneels and rolls up the hem.

She doesn't stop him.

More bruises. Cuts. Discoloration. One patch of skin looks deadened, like it no longer registers touch.

Julian's hands shake: "What... what the hell is this?!"

Skylar's face turns ghostly pale. Her lips tremble, but the smile never leaves.

"I-It's nothing serious. Don't worry. I can handle it myself. Really. No need to make a fuss."

"Shut up!" Sunny's voice cracks as she kneels beside her friend: "Just sit there and let us help you!"

Julian yanks his phone from his pocket, dialing without hesitation.

"Hello?" – a voice answers.

"It's me," Julian says, voice tight: "Send a car. Five minutes. Room emergency."

"Yes, young master. Right away."

He ends the call, then looks down at Skylar. She is still shaking, her hands now gripping the edge of the bed as if it were a lifeline.

"I told you..." she mutters, weakly: "You didn't have to... I don't want to trouble anyone."

Sunny gives her a stern look, eyes welling with tears: "Girl, you're literally BLEEDING. You ARE the trouble. So just be quiet and let us help, okay?!"

Julian stands and points: "Get everything ready. A car will be here in five."

Sunny wipes at her eyes, nods: "Right."

Exactly five minutes later...

Julian scoops Skylar into his arms. Her weight is feather-light, disturbingly so. Sweat dots his brow—not from effort, but anxiety.

"Urgent case. Let's go!"

His personal bodyguard — Nathan Dang, already waits by the black car. He opens the door: "Yes, sir!"

The moment the door closes, Julian holds her closer. Her breathing is shallow, almost soundless. A damp strand of hair clings to her cheek, and her skin feels cold—too cold.

"Stay with me." Julian whispers, not caring if she can hear him: "Just hang on... please."

Sunny sits beside him, eyes locked on Skylar's face: "She's freezing… Julian, she's freezing. Do we have a blanket?"

Julian strips off his jacket and wraps it around Skylar. He has never seen her like this—so fragile, so silent. The usual spark in her eyes, the mischievous remarks, the bold grin—gone. Now, there is only a ghost of a girl clinging to consciousness.

As the car speeds through the city, streetlights blur into golden streaks across the windows. Each second feels like a lifetime.

He remembers the scars.

Images flash in his head: the fresh cuts, the fading bruises, the deadened skin. And that smile. That damn smile.

He clenches his fists.

How long has she been hiding this? How many times has she laughed off the pain? How many times has she smiled just to keep people from looking too closely?

Julian doesn't even realize he is shaking.

The streets outside race by, but inside the car, everything feels too still. Skylar's head rests against his chest, her breath fainter with every second. Julian lowers his head until his cheek brushes her hair.

"Just a little longer..." he murmurs: "You're gonna be okay."

He isn't sure who he is trying to convince—her or himself.

Sunny, still wiping tears from her eyes, reaches out and gently squeezes Skylar's hand: "Don't go to sleep, Sky. You hear me? You don't get to bail on us. Not like this."

But Skylar doesn't respond.

Her fingers are cold.

Julian glances down and realizes his hands are trembling again. Not from fear—but from rage:

Who did this to her?Who left these marks?Why didn't she tell anyone?Why didn't I see it sooner?

The guilt coils inside his chest like barbed wire. Every breath he takes feels like punishment.

The car screeches to a halt in front of the emergency entrance.

Julian throws the door open and bolts out, still cradling Skylar in his arms: "Help! She's bleeding out! We need help now!"

Nurses and doctors rush forward with a gurney.

Julian doesn't stop. He runs straight toward them, his voice rising: "She's losing blood! She's freezing! Hurry!"

They intercept him, taking Skylar from his arms. The sudden emptiness makes his chest cave in. His arms feel heavy, useless.

Even as they lift her onto the gurney, her hand slips from his.

He grabs it—just for a moment.

It's so cold.

So small.

So still.

And then it's gone.

They wheel her away, shouting orders to one another, pushing through the double doors that slam shut in Julian's face.

He stands there, breathless. Frozen.

Through the small glass window, he catches one final glimpse of her face.

Skylar's head lolls to the side. Her eyes are closed. But faintly—faintly—her lips still curl into that same tired smile.

It isn't for comfort. It isn't for reassurance.

It is the last piece of armor she has left.

And then—

She slips into unconsciousness.