I walk to school with my shoulders drooped and my head low and a hoodie over my head. I try not to meet people’s eyes as they stare at me because of my bruised eye. Some stare in concern and some in mockery. I feel embarrassed and humiliated to be out in public. I can feel my eyes swell up as tears begin to form. I don’t want to be here, but I don’t want to be home either.
I bite my lip as dark memories flash in my mind.
That very morning, I woke up to pounding on my door. I try not to surrender to my cowardliness, but it’s true fear that makes me stand up and head to the door to open it. Suddenly, a hand shoves me back and I fall on my behind. I scamper away from the door, but a hand grabs my hair and I feel my neck strain as my head thrusts back. I yelp in pain, but I am ignored.
The stranger does not care.
I fight back. I scratch and kick, but I am helpless as an animal in a lion’s teeth. I cry as screams of anguish fills my room. I know what is supposed to happen next. It is routine. It is torture.
He drags me to the bed, and I scream, “No. Please, no!” My face is drenched in tears.
He smirks at me. His eyes are red and his foul breath smells of liquor. “Either you or your mother.” He growls, as he throws me on the bed. He crawls towards me and I kick him in the face. He holds me down and I sob because I know my scrawny body would have no chance against him.
He takes off his shirt and leans in, cackling.
I close my eyes.
Then darkness encloses me