Chapter 11

I turn to try and wedge my door shut, but it keeps opening the more I push it, warped, broken somehow, fighting me all the way. I am too weary and dizzy for this, and I eventually jam a chair against it to keep it closed while I get to the sink, clean the worst of my face up, and assess how bad it is. It feels like I have been facepalmed with a shovel.

The horrendous image blinking back at me under dim, buzzing bathroom lighting in a cracked mirror is sobering.

I look awful. My eyes are starting to circle with the tell-tale blue darkness, and the bridge of my nose is swollen and bruised already. My skin is pale and blotchy from tears and traces of being unwell, and my eyes look red and veiny. The blood cleans away to reveal an ashen face and a swollen top lip. It feels incredibly tender and makes me nauseous when I touch it. I’m guessing he got me right in the centre of the face, and I might be lucky with a cracked or bashed nose rather than a broken one.

It isn’t