I was huddled outside of my old bedroom. I'd shut myself out. I didn't look down at my body. I was numb in a way, but still coherent enough to know that I wasn't ready to see the damage. Wasn't ready to face it. My jaw was slack, and so my first assumption was that I'd been drooling on myself, but as the drip, drip, drip continued, I realized there was too much of it, whatever it was, for that. Had I thrown up on myself? I wondered. It seemed as likely as anything. My mouth tasted foul enough for it, acid burning in my throat. I kept my eyes trained straight ahead, at the stained yellow wall in front of me as I took a shaking hand and wiped my chin. I held it up all the way to eye level, not lowering my gaze even an inch to see what it was. Red. So much red, but as I saw it I was not completely surprised. I felt at my lips, and to this day I wonder, I honestly have no recollection, which one of us had ravaged them, bit them bloody, that monster in his depravity, or me, in my anguish?
What do You think about Breaking Her (Love Is War #2)?
