The fourth morning the bruises had faded enough that only the deepest ones still showed if I looked hard, but the places underneath them had not faded at all.
I woke with my hand pressed low on my stomach, as if my body had been searching for the ghost of him while I slept. The sheets were damp with sweat even though the room was cold. For a long time I didn’t move. I just lay there and let the memory of his weight, his breath, the ruthless way he had filled me rise and fall like a tide I could no longer hold back.
Hate was supposed to stay sharp. Mine had started to dull at the edges, and the dullness terrified me more than the original cut.
I dressed in the half-dark, layering clothes until nothing of my skin showed, and left the hostel while the corridors were still quiet. The snow f
