EVA LEVESQUE
“I can’t believe this happened to you,” said Irene. She was applying ointment to the bruises and scratches from Sigrid’s chokehold area. I winced when she slightly applied pressure to the spot that hurt the most.
“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking straight,” she apologized.
“It’s fine,” I barely managed to say. The injury left me having a hard time talking, it hurts when I try to, and my voice is hoarse. I stared at the mirror on the side table, purple and bluish bruises surrounding the base of my neck. But it wasn’t as bad as I imagined it to be.
“I know that Sigrid didn’t mean it, I know that it wasn’t him but I can’t help but feel upset.” She looked at me and glared, “it’s your fault too. You know that Sigrid is unstable and yet you went to the carriage and got yourself i
