I wake in a heated mess, hair matted to my face. My arm is numb, no wonder, since it's crumpled at a weird angle underneath me.
I never stood back up, I think, angrily. As I peel myself from the cold concrete floor, I notice the amount of blood surrounding me, then remember last night's nose bleed. Fantastic.
I stumble as I kick the small rug/mat over the mess. Better to let it dry and scrape it up later than to try and soak it out. Dizzy from the exertion, I shuffle to the bathroom and hiss at the sight.
It's one of my worse days: My hair is matted to my forehead with a dark red mix of blood and snot. My right eye is swollen, but not too terribly, and my lip is split. I figure I should shower and look a little less like I was mugged. Wincing as I force my sore limbs towards the shower door, I try to forget everything that happened.
I never stop feeling this way. It's a constant cycle, my daily routine. Get up, shower, cover up old scars and new bruises, make breakfast, slave over the chores, do homework, make dinner, go to work, come home, avoid Kurtis, sleep. Sometimes it's different. Sometimes Kurtis won't let me avoid what he has in store. Sometimes he has a rough day. Sometimes I never get to sleep.
YOU ARE READING
FREE-MAN
Romance"Why don't people ever wonder what makes a victim become a victim? Did they give up after fighting, or did they lose the fight before they even tried? In rape: Why can't the victim win? Why do they give up? Why did I give up?!" Chase Freeman, a high...
