TILL MY LAST BREATH

CHAPTER 8: BRUISED SMILES

RAIN

My aunt found Dale’s name in my diary three days after the fight.

She was cleaning my room, or at least that is what she called it. I was at school when she went through my drawers, my notebooks, my sketches. When I came home, the pages were scattered on the floor. The air felt different the moment I stepped inside. Heavy.

She stood by the mattress, holding the diary in her hand. “So you're still hanged on your cousin's boyfriend huh?” she asked quietly.

I froze. The sound of my heartbeat drowned everything else.

“Answer me?” Her voice rose. “You wrote about him like he's yours entirely. Like you know what love means.”

“I do not—” I began, but she moved before I could finish.

Her hand met my cheek so hard that I tasted blood. The sting burned through my skin. She hit me again and again till she was satisfied.

“After everything I have done for you,” she said, breathing hard. “After feeding you, keeping you in my house, you repay me with shame. Do you want to ruin yourself like your mother did? To be known for going after married men?”

I bit my lip until I tasted iron. I wanted to scream that she was wrong, that my mother wasn't that kind of women and that loving someone should not make me dirty. But I stayed silent. Silence was safer. Silence meant fewer bruises.

She tore a page from the diary and held it in front of me. “You will forget this boy. Do you hear me? You will forget him or you will regret it.”

I nodded. My tears blurred my vision on the page with Dale's name.

When she finally left the room, I collapsed on the bed, clutching my side where her blows had landed. I pressed a pillow to my face to stop myself from crying too loudly. Crying made her come back.

---

The next morning, I covered the marks with makeup that did not match my skin tone. My reflection in the mirror looked strange. I practiced a smile before leaving for school. It looked almost real if I didn’t look too closely.

Sarah was waiting by the gate. She had been keeping her distance since the argument, but that morning she waved at me. For a second, I almost turned back home. I didn’t know how to face her when everything about me screamed broken.

“Hey,” she said softly as I walked up. “You look tired.”

“I couldn’t sleep,” I said, forcing my lips into that same fake smile. “My aunt had me cleaning all night.”

She frowned. “Is she still giving you a hard time?”

“She is just being herself,” I replied, trying to laugh which turned out to be a total flop.

Sarah looked at me for a long time. I could tell she wanted to ask more, but she didn’t. Instead, she nodded toward the gate. “Come on, we’ll be late.”

We walked in silence which has now become a part of us since our argument.

---

At lunch, I saw Dale. He was sitting with Brittany, his arm casually draped around her shoulders. The sight hit me like a hurricane. He looked happy. Carefree. Like the night he ruined me never happened.

I told myself not to look. I told myself to eat, to breathe, to be normal. But my eyes betrayed me. They searched for him even when my heart begged them not to.

When he laughed, I felt a gushing ache in my chest. Sarah followed my gaze and sighed quietly.

“You have to stop,” she said. “He doesn’t deserve your thoughts.”

“I know,” I whispered, but knowing did not help.

That night, my aunt was waiting again. I had come home late because I walked slowly, afraid of what waited behind the door.

“Where were you?” she asked.

“Library.”

She stared at me, then grabbed my wrist. “Do not lie to me, Rain.”

Her grip tightened until I winced. She looked into my eyes and said, “If I ever see you near that boy, you will regret being under my roof.”

When she let go, red marks remained on my skin. I rubbed them until they faded, pretending that would erase the shame.

Later that night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. The walls around me were thin, and I could hear her talking on the phone in the next room. Her voice was calm again, almost cheerful, as if nothing had happened. That was the worst part. The cruelty was never constant; it came in waves, leaving confusion instead of scars you could show.

I pulled out my journal and looked at the torn pages. The blank spaces where his name used to be now lie empty.

I whispered to the air, “I still love him.”

---

The following week, Sarah stopped me after class. “You need to tell someone,” she said quietly. “About your aunt. About him. About everything.”

I shook my head. “No one will believe me.”

“I would.”

“You already do, and look where that got us,” I said. The moment the words left my mouth, I regretted them. Her eyes softened, full of hurt I didn’t mean to cause.

“I’m still here, Rain. Even if you hate me for it. Even if you keep your distance”

“I could never hate you,” I whispered.

But I hated myself for dragging her into my mess. I could see how worried she was, how exhausted she looked from trying to hold me together when I was determined to fall apart.

When we hugged goodbye, she pressed something into my hand. A small folded note. Later that night, I opened it under my blanket.

It said, You deserve to heal. Please don’t let them break you more than they already have.

I cried until my pillow was soaked.

---

The next morning, my aunt acted like nothing had happened. She made breakfast to my surprise and asked about school. I watched her pour tea and wondered how someone could carry so much hatred behind such steady hands. I answered her politely, because politeness was survival.

At school, people greeted me as if everything was fine. I laughed when they made jokes. I helped with group projects. I talked about movies I hadn’t watched. Every time someone said I looked better, I smiled wider. Bruised smiles were easier to fake than honesty.

During lunch, I sat with Sarah and tried to be the old version of myself. The one who used to dream about college, who laughed too loud and drew hearts on her notebook. That girl was gone, but pretending she was still alive made the day easier to survive.

When the final bell rang, I waited by the gate, watching students hurry home. Dale passed by with his friends, not even glancing at me. I told myself that was good. I told myself that was healing. But when he laughed, the sound followed me all the way home.

That night, I stood in front of the mirror again. The makeup had faded, revealing faint marks on my cheek. I traced them with my fingers, feeling both anger and shame.

“Love is not supposed to hurt,” I whispered, but the words sounded like a lie.

I crawled into bed and closed my eyes, trying to imagine a world where I could wake up without fear. A world where love meant warmth instead of pain, and home meant safety instead of punishment.

Sleep did not come easily. When it finally did, I dreamed of the rain. It fell endlessly, washing away everything except the ache that lived in my chest.