For the first time in weeks, I stood in front of the mirror, looking at myself. I'd seen myself bruised a million times before, but something was different about it this time. I couldn't bring myself to look away from the reflection staring back at me.
The deep purple bruises that covered my face and body stood out starkly against my pale skin, a painful reminder.
I traced a finger along the outline of a particularly nasty bruise on my cheek, feeling the tenderness beneath my touch. I should have been used to this by now, but each new mark felt like a fresh wound, reopening old scars.
I remembered the way their fists had rained down on me, their words cutting deeper than any physical blow ever could. I remembered the fear and helplessness that consumed me in those moments, the desperate
