"Jessica, I indulge you too much, you are so disobedient..."
He hit me hard on the head with a suitcase full of luggage.
The next second, I fainted from the pain.
When I woke up, I found myself lying on the bed in the bedroom. Charles had moved me there.
My hand instinctively reached up to touch my hair, but instead of feeling the familiar strands cascading down my back, my fingers grazed uneven patches of my scalp. My waist-length hair was gone. All that remained were mottled, jagged tufts, a grotesque reminder of what had been done to me.
Tears began to flow uncontrollably, each drop stinging as it trailed down my face, mingling with the sharp, raw pain that had settled deep in my bones.
I crawled to the bathroom, each movement igniting new waves of agony. When I finally reached the mirror, the sight before me made my breath catch in my throat. Red, angry welts crisscrossed my face, evidence of countless slaps. My skin bore the deep, jagged marks of nails that had torn into it. Blood had dried into dark, crusted scabs, mocking any attempt at composure.
I clenched my fists and bit back my sobs, forcing myself to look away from the mirror. There was no time to break down now. I had to leave.
Frantically, I searched the room for my luggage, the suitcase I had packed with trembling hands before everything unraveled. But it was nowhere to be found. Heart pounding, I stumbled downstairs, only to see the suitcase dumped carelessly in the trash can outside.
For a moment, I stared at it, my resolve wavering. But then, something inside me snapped. I wouldn’t pick it up. I wouldn’t cling to the remnants of my shattered dignity.
I turned my back on the discarded suitcase and walked away from the community.
As I stepped out onto the street, passers-by shot me curious, even pitying glances. Their eyes lingered on my swollen face and my uneven, exposed scalp. Shame threatened to consume me, but I kept moving forward, each step heavier than the last.
I entered a drugstore, avoiding the cashier’s gaze as I purchased a box of masks.
The moment I secured one over my face, hiding the scars and the humiliation, the tears came again, harder this time. They flowed freely, soaking into the fabric of the mask.
I hid in the rental house like a rat in the gutter for three days. I didn’t go out wearing a mask until the day of my mother’s funeral.