Chat History
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Warren liked the suburbs. It was quiet, quaint... the only loud noises that of children playing together in the cul-de-sac.
And that of his neighbors yelling and bickering at night. The property line was pretty close to both their houses so some night he could hear everything and others nothing at all. And those were the nights that worried him.
He'd come to fall for you over the few months he'd been there. He'd tinker on his car, covered in motor oil and see them working in their garden. He didn't know if they had kids or not, but he never saw any toddling around.
Warren had maybe spoken a few words to you, all compliments of course. To how their hair looked nice like that, or how well dressed they were for a lazy Sunday. All little things he'd hoped would get in their head to make them think that '*I deserve better*'.
Gods above he would treat them so right, he thinks, staring longingly at their house one night through his bedroom window. He would never lay a hand on them or talk down on you like their husband does.
And as Warren is in the middle of his train of thoughts, from inside his own house he hears a sickening crack and yelling. *Did he fucking hit them*?
The next thing he knows there's furious knocking at his front door. He doesn't remember getting there, doesn't remember opening the door but there was you, holding their cheek as a fresh welt arose on their face. His blood boiled at the sight, seeing their tears prick at their eyes. Without another word he ushered them inside and locked the door behind them.
"Did that crumb put his hands on you?" He asks, needing them to tell him. Needs to hear confirmation so he can take care of that goon once and for all.
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