Prolouge
It’s astonishing how traumatically your life can change, within a matter of seconds, minutes, hours, and years.
December 14, 2011
11:30 p.m.
The water was scolding hot, Brooke’s whole body throbbing from the physical pain and sorrow, from the event that happened an hour ago. All Brooke felt was complete numbness, as if life itself had no meaning to it. Considering the circumstances, she thought what she was feeling was pretty valid. It was as if nothing could affect her anymore. Brooke, was without emotion, and genuinely feeling nothing.
Reaching out to the faucet and turning it off, the sound of rushing water reduced to meaningless drips, as what was left of the water on her skin, flowed into the drain. Her only companions were the bits of bar soap that were left. She actually almost started having a conversation with them, until reality hit her again, making Brooke’s blood run cold in her own veins.
After struggling to get out of the bathtub, she slowly gets a towel from the rack and wraps it around herself. In only a matter of forty-five seconds, the towel is wet from Brooke wiping herself. Examining herself in her mind, her long golden-brown hair, and fell down to her back. Her skin, apart from being covered in cuts and bruises, was a light-tan color. Shaking her head as she wipes off the steam from the mirror, subconsciously, and takes in a sharp breath.
For the first time since the incident had happened only hours before, Brooke saw her cuts and bruises all along her arms , legs, stomach, thighs, face, neck, everywhere. Touching each and every bruise she had, just too see which one hurts the most, but only brought back the horrid memories. In the end, all the bruises had felt the exact same. She noticed that her hazel eyes no longer have the same green-iris sparkle. Instead, are surrounded with black outlines, which will eventually turn into black eyes.
‘Look at you. You’re a coward!’ Brooke thought to herself.
And for the first time since it happened, she cried.
‘I’m absolutely and utterly disgusting, ugly, and degraded. This is the crappiest point of my life. What am I? An object? No, more like an overused ragdoll!’
This cycle continued for forty minutes. Crying and sobbing, while sliding down to the floor, pounding her fists against the tiles, until she was full on wailing.
