In an uncontrolled burst of fury, I simply punch the mirror with my left hand and hate myself for it. I must not lose control to the point of leaving more marks on myself, but being far from home gives me a false sense of safety that disgusts me. I am safe, and she is not. My wounds will fade, and hers will be renewed day after day.
I punch the mirror again and hear a shrill sound flooding the room. It takes me a moment to realize it came from me.
I am pure hatred now. For them and for myself.
It seems so unfair that I am okay.
I feel something warm in my hand, and I am so numb from my rage that the pain of the cuts is superficial, and the blood running down is irrelevant.
“What are you doing?” I feel Elinor block me and stop me from hurting myself again. “Valentina, calm down, please
