I scrub the dried blood from my skin until the water runs pale and I can almost pretend it isn’t there, but the mirror doesn’t let me forget. Fresh bruises bloom across my skin like evidence I can’t erase, and my ribs throb with every breath. A cold shiver runs down my spine. My stomach twists sharply, and for a moment I have to grip the edge of the sink to steady myself. The bruises feel louder than the room.
My gaze catches on my shoulder, where last night’s bite has broken the skin, and fresh blood sits in beads, leaving a dark, ugly mark that refuses to fade. Heat floods my face, thick and suffocating. My breath stutters, and I look away quickly, unable to face the mark without feeling the moment all over again.
Humiliation burns hot behind my ribs as I clean myself up. I swallow hard, but the shame doesn’t move. It sits heavy and unmoving, like it has carved out a place inside me.
After I dress, I leave a note on the kitchen counter. I take my wallet, my keys, and wheel my bike out of the garage without a sound, careful not to wake Adrian.
My hands shake around the handlebars. Every sound feels amplified, every shadow sharper. I don’t breathe properly until the garage door closes behind me.
* * *
At work, everything fractures.
Focus slips through my fingers. Conversations blur. Details vanish the second I try to hold onto them. Even things I should know instinctively feel just out of reach, like my mind is working against me. A faint ringing fills my ears. The world blurs at the edges, slipping in and out of focus. I blink hard, trying to pull myself back into my body.
Ree’s question won’t leave me alone.
Are you safe?
By lunchtime, I find myself outside Marge’s room.
She’s a floor above now. I hadn’t planned on stopping. Not really. But my body decides for me, carrying me there like it already knows what I need.
“Eli.”
She looks up from her book and smiles, warm and steady as ever.
I manage a small, tight smile as I walk in. “How do you always know it’s me?”
She doesn’t answer the question, just studies me for a moment longer. “You’ve got your worried face on,” she says gently, closing her book and setting it aside. “Talk to me.”
I sit down beside her. I open my mouth, then close it again. I try once more, but nothing comes out.
Then Marge speaks again. And what she says drops straight through me.
“You know… I stayed too long once.”
I go still. My breath catches. A cold ripple moves through me, tightening every muscle. The words hit harder than I expect, sharp enough to make my vision swim.
She’s looking out the window now, like the words are easier that way. “My first fiancé.”
I stare at her. I’ve never heard her speak about another man besides her husband.
“He wasn’t cruel all the time,” she continues softly. “He could be charming. Kind. And then, without warning… he could make me feel so small.”
Her gaze turns back to me. And Marge, gentle, soft-spoken Marge, has tears gathering in her eyes. My chest caves inward. A tremor runs through my fingers, small but impossible to hide. Seeing her cry feels like something inside me is splitting open.
“You are all those things too, hun,” she says quietly, “You don’t deserve what you’re getting.”
My stomach drops.
Her hand lifts, brushing lightly against the mark on my shoulder. The bite. The proof.
I flinch away instinctively, but I can’t hide from it. My pulse spikes. Heat rushes up my neck, and my stomach twists violently. The reaction is automatic, carved into me by too many nights like last night.
Tears spill down my face before I can stop them.
“Look at me, sweet boy.”
