In my last year of high school, we each had to write an essay on the topic of our choosing, and being an unimaginative soul, I picked mine from the list of suggested research areas provided to us.

I chose to research domestic abuse - the statistics, the various forms of it, but mostly, the outwardly visible psychological effects. The main purpose of the essays were to ready us for the mountains of papers we would be writing in college, and though I had no desire to go to college, I spent tens of hours on that paper. I had my small taste of what college was like, in that week leading up to the deadline of our year-long project, with the cans of caffeinated diet soda lining the desk in my bedroom, and the moments where I'd realize that the reason my laptop screen was so bright was because it had gotten dark outside without me noticing, and typing so fast that my fingers ached every time I lifted them from the keyboard.

I got an A on that project.

So when Mabel walks into the diner one morning with her hair tied back and a purple ring around her right eye, I consider running back to school and telling them to change my grade; I clearly haven't learned shit about recognizing the signs of abuse.

My face just kind of drops, like somebody raised the building's gravity. Mabel walks up behind the counter, where I'm standing, says good morning, cheerful as ever, and immediately goes to work on the cash register, assigning herself tables to serve. Her movements are all mechanical, like she's stuck on autopilot, and the chatter of customers drones on around us, anybody with concern not willing to express it.

Including me. I want to say something, like, what on earth are you doing, sit down, but I'm shell-shocked. I've never seen such a dramatic entrance delivered so casually.

Thankfully, Lindsay and her motherly know-how are right behind me, and she steps up to Mabel and says, "Mabel, hon, are you okay?"

"Yeah. Oh, my eye? I fell down the stairs. Clumsy." She laughs on the last word, about as forced as laughter can be.

"Don't worry about this for now-" Lindsay shuts down the screen on the register - "come sit down in the break room with me, okay?"

Mabel doesn't put up a fight, just wanders into the back office. Lindsay goes to put a hand on Mabel's back but stops herself. She looks back at me over her shoulder, her eyes brimming with worry, and without even thinking about it I follow them both, and hover in the doorway with my arms hugging my chest. Mabel sits on the couch and Lindsay stoops down in front of her in the limited space, like you would with a child.

"Did somebody do this to you?"

Mabel nods, taking great interest in her fingernails.

Lindsay waits for a beat. "Did Jason do this to you?"

Another nod. I feel myself breathe deep - I was expecting it to take much longer to get to this point.

"When did this happen?"

"Last night."

"Has this happened before?"

Mabel shrugs. I feel the color that had returned to my face slip away again. "Sometimes when we're arguing," she says. "But we both say stupid things, we both... do stupid things."

"But you've never hit him," Lindsay says, lowering her eyebrows, trying to understand.

Mabel seems to think about that for a long time. I almost say her name out loud, just to interrupt her train of thought, in case she's weaving a lie to protect her fiancé. But eventually she shakes her head.

Lindsay looks up at me, and Mabel follows her eyes and notices me standing in the doorway for the first time, but she quickly looks back at the floor. Behind me, in the window to the kitchen, Julio is repeatedly slamming his palm against the order-up bell, because his initiative doesn't extend beyond the walls of his kitchen. As much as I'd like to know everything about Mabel's situation, and whether I need to pay Jason a visit with a weapon, I return to running the diner and allow Lindsay's level head to work its magic.

Five minutes later Lindsay joins me at the counter. I peek over her shoulder and Mabel's still sat in the back office, her eyes set on the wall. Lifeless, almost.

"I'm going to call the police," Lindsay tells me, sounding emotionally exhausted. "Mabel just told me that her fiancé is supposed to be home all day. I don't know whether they'll arrest him, or take him in for questioning... did you know anything about this?"

I frown. "If I knew anything I would have told you, Lindsay."

"Yes," she says, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I'm sorry. I know you would."

"Do you need me to do anything?"

"Just keep holding down the fort." She squeezes my shoulder. "I'm going to call them from the kitchen - I'm not sure Mabel needs to hear it. If her fiancé walks in, call 911 immediately, okay?"

I nod obediently, suddenly hyperaware of the parking lot, certain that when I look up he'll be there, striding to the door with his shirt sleeves rolled up. But the lot is devoid of people. I remind myself to keep an eye on it.

The customers are awfully needy this morning. Before I'm even finished maintaining polite conversation with one table, somebody's waving at me from another, begging for my attention. When I finally have a minute free, I check up on Mabel, whose focus is still absorbed by the wall. She looks up and smiles as I walk in, but again her eyes have fallen back to the floor by the time I've sat down.

I should have thought of something to say to her before I came in. I can't see the bruise from here, but the image of it is burned into my memory, where it will likely remain long after Mabel is healed.

Then she turns to face me, and I can see it, and it's far worse than I remember - like a tennis ball is lodged behind her eye socket, pushing outwards, desecrating her skin with angry streaks of red and purple. Her eyelid is only open halfway, and the eyeball itself is glazed over, wet. I convinced myself a long time ago that the sight of Mabel in pain like this would have brought me satisfaction. Now I realize that it never could have. I'm teeming with hatred for who did this to her.

Mabel says, "I'm sorry about the other night."

I shake my head, barely able to recall our argument on the hill behind Northwest Manor. "Don't worry about that," I tell her, and I feel so guilty that she was even thinking about that that I reach for her hand, which she welcomes with a squeeze. "Please don't worry about that."

Before I can say anything else, Lindsay's in the doorway. "I phoned the police," she says. "They're on their way - they'll need to ask you a few questions, is that okay?"

Mabel nods.

"Okay. I'll leave you two alone for a minute."

My first instinct is to call Lindsay back in here, as I'm left alone with the blanket of quiet suffocating me and Mabel. I know that the swelling of Mabel's eye - and everything it entails - far outweighs the significance of our midnight quarrel, and I shouldn't feel awkward just sitting next to her. But it's hard not to when my M.O. in the last few days has been to shun her at all costs. I glance down at my hand, still linked with hers, but I've kept it still for so long that I can't feel it.

"Do you need anything?" I say. "Water? Coffee?"

"I'm okay. Thank you."

I'm not sure who moves first. I think we both realize at the same time that this is silly, and I shuffle closer on the couch and put one arm around her shoulders and the other around her waist. She mimics me, then rests her head on my shoulder, and I stare at the screensaver on the computer and let her apple shampoo fill my nostrils, the stiffness in my muscles evaporating.

A minute or two later she sighs sleepily. "You smell like waffles."

I grin. "Is that a good thing?"

"Mmm. It's nice."

I drop into the booth and slide my phone out of my pocket. "It's been three hours," I huff.

"These things take time, P," Wendy says.

"They'd better not be overwhelming her with questions. You know what the police are like in this town."

"Says Pacifica Northwest, the hardened criminal of Gravity Falls."

"Don't mock me."

"Sorry." She covers one of my restless hands with her palm. "She'll be fine. It's like I said, Mabel's different. She's strong. It takes guts to go out in public right after your boyfriend smacks you in the face. She knew she had to tell somebody, so she came to work."

"Or she was in shock. I told you, she was like acting like a robot, like she was only coming to work because she couldn't think of anything else to do. What if this has been going on for years and nobody could see it? What if she has bruises all over her body and this is just the first time Jason's messed up and hit her somewhere visible?"

"Okay, well maybe that's true, but it's no good worrying about it when we don't know the facts yet. The important thing is she's safe now. It's over."

I shake my head. "It's not over until he's behind bars."

"I agree with you. But let's stay calm until she gets back. Here, something to distract you," she says, tilting an empty coffee cup at me.

I narrow my eyes. "You said you were going to help me manage the diner."

Wendy shrugs. "I already mopped those tables."

"You mopped the tables? You're not supposed to mop the tables, Wendy. Jesus Christ, I need a distraction from you," I groan, standing and dragging my feet on the way back to the counter.

It's 4 P.M. - five hours after they left - that Lindsay and Mabel return to the diner.

"Is that them?" I call out, at the sight of a silver car pulling into the parking lot. I then remember that Wendy left half an hour ago, to begin her ridiculous two-hour commute to the nightclub she works at along the coast, so I've just shouted to an empty table. I get a few strange looks as I hurry to the door, and then stroll back to the counter because despite everything, I don't want to look too desperate.

Both ladies offer me a weak smile when they walk by the counter. They hover by the door to the back office while I press random buttons on the cash register, pretending to be busy. I don't hear every word they're saying, but I catch the gist - Lindsay wants Mabel to rest in the office for a while but Mabel wants to go straight to work. Eventually Mabel gives in and slumps onto the couch, her head back, her eyes shut.

Lindsay rests a hand on my shoulder. "How about you take off early?" she says softly. "You've done more than enough work today."

I nod slowly. I'm tired, but I can't really imagine being anywhere else right now. It doesn't feel right to leave Mabel here, wallowing in despair. "How is she?"

"She's okay. She was very calm throughout the whole thing, but it took her a little while to open up about the full history of the abuse."

I swallow. "And?"

"She said she'd like to tell you about that herself."

My eyes rest on Mabel, her steady breaths raising the hands folded over her stomach. Who'd want to hurt that dainty little thing?

"They've arrested Jason," Lindsay says, which startles me out of my trance. "He'll have to appear in court tomorrow. I'm not sure what will happen from there, but, if the judge deems him to be dangerous, then he'll most likely go to prison."

"Does Mabel need to be there too?"

Lindsay nods, and my heart sinks a little. "She'll need to confirm everything she told the police today in court. If you ask me, the bruise around her eye is more than enough evidence, but hey-ho. I was going to set her up on my couch tonight. I don't like the thought of her alone in that big house. Then tomorrow I'll take her to the courtroom. I'll have to close up the diner for the day - I won't ask Beth to run the place herself. Poor girl, you know how panicky she gets."

"What if Mabel stayed with me? You could pick her up in the morning and drive her to court, I'll come here to help Beth, and then we can switch again when you get back."

"Are you sure you're okay with that?"

"Yeah," I shrug. "I have the spare room anyway. Probably better than a couch. No offense," I add. "Your couch is lovely."

Lindsay grins. "Alright. Well, you're free to go. Mabel could walk home with you now."

"Yeah." Mabel looks over at me, like she sensed an end to the conversation. I don't avert my eyes and we end up in a staring contest that's one part amicable and two parts awkward. "Should probably ask her first," I realize, frowning.

She smiles up at me when I walk in. "Hey."

"Hey. Do you wanna sleep at mine tonight?"

After a moment she nods, with a hint of enthusiasm. "Okay."

"Cool," I say, my mind having run out of words. It dawns on me that my apartment will probably be very quiet all evening. Like... every other evening. "Um, we could stop at the Shack first. Grab a change of clothes."

"Right." She glances down at the slim-fitting button-up and the gray skirt that qualify her as a Greasy's waitress. "And an eyepatch," she adds, smirking at me.

That night, there's a thunderstorm. I emerge from the bathroom, fresh and pretty, because there's only so long I can walk about my apartment smelling like a bacon cheeseburger and fries. Mabel is perched on the windowsill in the living room, hugging her knees, gazing out into the dark, and the bright flash of lightning washes over her for a second, but she doesn't even flinch.

"What are you doing?" I ask her, dumping my bundled up Greasy's uniform on the couch.

"There's lightning," she says quietly.

I hover in the living room and stare at her, all ominous, with the occasional flashes of light and the rain pattering on the window. If it wasn't her good eye on show, it might be heartbreaking to watch.

Suddenly she's looking at me. "You don't like it?"

I shrug. "What's there to like?"

"It's like a free light show."

"A free light show that can kill people."

She tilts her head. "Is that actually true?"

"Yes."

"Is it, though?"

"You wanna go grab onto the nearest streetlamp and find out?"

"Come here," she says, waving me over. "Statistically, the safest place to be in a lightning storm is in a car."

"We're not in a car," I say, standing a couple of feet back from the window and watching over her knees.

"I know. I didn't say it was a relevant statistic."

A giggle escapes my mouth; sounds just like I'm fifteen again.

Mabel smiles down at me. "I washed the dishes."

I turn and glance at the neat arrangement of plates and bowls and cutlery beside the kitchen sink. "You didn't have to do that."

"You cooked."

"I put a pizza in the oven." And, most of the dishes I had piled up were the wreckage of my filthy eating habits over the last few days. Washing dishes around here is no easy feat, what with all the oats often cemented to my cereal bowls.

Mabel shrugs. "That's still cooking. If you hadn't done that, the pizza would have been frozen."

"Can't argue with that." A fork of lightning is branded into the sky, and I see it a second time when I blink. It is kind of cool. "Come in here," I tell Mabel, walking over to my bedroom. "We can see better."

At the far end of my room there's a double-paned window much larger than the one in the living room. I sling a couple of scattered shirts and a bra to one side of the room with my foot, clearing a path to the window. I sense Mabel poking around with her eyes, getting a lay of the land, and I try to recall if I've left anything incriminating out on display. Other than the bra, I think I'm okay.

We silently watch the lightning momentarily bring my neighbor's yards to life, illuminating bushes and sheds and a sandbox as if it's daytime.

"I don't know what I'm gonna do tomorrow," Mabel says eventually. "I have to tell them everything Jason did to me while he's... there. While I'm looking him in the eye."

I choose my response carefully, and it still sucks. "You don't have to look at him."

"I know that now. But tomorrow, I won't. He'll look at me, with fear in his eyes. He'll plead for me not to- not to... I don't know."

I frown. "That would be manipulating you. That's what this is all about - if you don't give in to it, just for one day, tomorrow, you'll never have to deal with that again."

"He isn't always bad," she says, picking at a fingernail. "You know, it's not like I was permanently unhappy. There were times that I wouldn't have traded for the world. It's hard to imagine him locked up somewhere, not at home with me."

I have no idea what to say to that. If the idea of her, at home, with him, is running through her head, then she's a lot further away from rationality than I thought she was. "Then don't imagine what will happen to him, imagine what would happen to you. How many more times can you bear being punched in the eye?"

Mabel turns to me, the evidence now in view. She looks surprised at my bluntness.

"And if that's not enough," I continue, taking one of her hands, "then think about someone else. Think about another sweet, young girl, and imagine Jason going home to California and doing the same thing to her."

The thunder punctuates the thought, and another flash of lightning highlights tears in her eyes. But I'm getting through to her; she nods.

"Tomorrow will be hard. But get through it, be strong, for a few hours, and you'll make the world a safer place, just by a little bit. You'll be a hero."

"You're right," she says, voice wet. "I can do it."

I wrap her up in a hug, and wait for her sniffles to die out in between bursts of thunder. "Lindsay said that you wanted to tell me the full story."

She steps back and nods.

"But not tonight," I say for her. "You should get some sleep."