Page 10 of Isabela

I can’t hold back my full body shudder this time, which makes me want to curl up and die as my nerve endings scream at me, about what a stupid girl I am. Closing my eyes, I concentrate on breathing in and out until I can think again.

My first step is to upload the video to my personal cloud server, and then I begin to check my emails.

Moving back into bed, I unplug my phone and answer them all slowly. Most of them are from the school, one is from my uncle demanding I get caught up on the book keeping as if it was my fault he hadn’t sent me any spreadsheets in ages, and one is from the professor I aide.

I respond to all of the emails but my professor’s, because I need to see how bad my bruises are before I do.

Then, I check my assignments due, and find I only truly need to go to my Ancient Civilization class because I have an exam on Thursday. Dammit.

Placing the phone on the bedspread, I stand and begin to walk to the bathroom. I’m terrified of what I’ll find because my right arm has a giant bruise of fingerprints along the underside, and I managed to catch a glimpse of a shoe print, on the right side of my body, from when my uncle stomped on me.

Turning on the light in my bathroom drives nails of pain through my skull, making me keen. “God, can I just get a break please,” I whisper.

My voice is hoarse, but I don’t remember screaming. Did I?

Deciding to rip off the bandaid, I glance at the mirror, immediately regretting it. Could it be worse? Yes.

One of my eyes is almost swollen shut, and there’s a large bruise on my cheekbone and forehead.

I don’t know how, but somehow most of the damage is along my ribs and legs. I’ll need to go shopping for some long-sleeved shirts or sweaters and another pair of jeans. The pair I have now, the bruise on my thigh, will be highlighted by where my favorite hole is.

Thankfully, I also checked my bank account, and my stipend paycheck came in for my job. I don’t want him or the students to see me, so I decide to email him and ask if I can work from home this week due to a car accident.

Yes, that’s what I’m going with. Remembering to take out the silicone I put in my gauges, I wince as I wash them and put them away.

My ears throb from having these on for so long, and I almost breathe a sigh of relief when I put my gauge plugs back in. At least I feel a little more like myself now, and less like the perfect doll my uncle wants me to be.

Giving the mirror my back, I turn on the shower before easing under the water, once it is warm enough.

My uncle wanted to make an effort, to remind me of how much power he had over me, but the bastard held back. The mayor and the party outside were the major reasons for it, but I’m grateful for their presence.

It could have been worse. This is a fraction of what he did to me my freshman year of college.

I don’t dawdle as I wash my body, the makeup and a bit of blood running down the drain as I get cleaned up.

My muscles are less stiff after the shower, and I slowly dry off and dress. Next up is disinfectant and ointment for any cuts, but the bruising is a lost cause.

Maybe I should invest in a container of arnica cream if this is going to become a normal occurrence.

My lips twist in sadness as I think about how I have no power. I can’t stop my uncle from selling me for his own purposes, all I can do is survive the next moment.

Looking over my injuries, I sigh. Elijah Cohen really fucked me up. I’m going to attempt to cover most of the bruises with makeup, but my lip is still split.

I put my hair up in a messy bun, brush my teeth, and am rudely reminded I haven’t eaten in days, as my stomach growls and the room begins to spin.

Wincing, I weave through the apartment to fix my blood sugar and dehydration.

Thirty minutes later, I slip out the door, happy it’s now almost ten in the morning and everyone is at work or the university.

God, it’s really cold outside, my tank-top and jeans showing how unprepared I am for the fall.

Thankfully, the thrift shop sees all walks of life, and no one stares at me for long, as I walk up and down the aisles, in search of clothing.

Two sweaters, one very warm coat, nice combat boots, long-sleeved shirts, and a pair of jeans all total about fifty dollars here.

Breathing a careful sigh of relief, I also find socks in their original packaging and two extra blankets.

The blankets are a nod to my need for comfort, though I don’t really need them. They’re soft, and one is a huge crocheted blanket.

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