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.