Elaine
Glaring at the small, crumpled thing lying on the floor, I vaguely remembered how I had landed on it yesterday when Kave had thrown me onto the bed. My ribs still ached from that impact, a dull reminder of his roughness. I didn’t even bother to figure out what it was; I just kicked it out of my way and stumbled toward the bathroom. The call of nature was far more urgent than whatever mystery object had been left behind.
After relieving myself, I stood in front of the mirror, bracing my hands on the sink as I stared at my own reflection. A messy tangle of dark brown hair framed my face, but it wasn’t the disheveled strands that caught my attention—it was the tear stains, dried and crusted along my cheeks, like silent trails of last night’s heartbreak.
And then there were my eyes.
