Page 11 of Isabela

I almost feel guilty for wanting them, but take them to the register to see what my damage is nonetheless.

“You know you can leave whoever is hitting you, right?” the cashier asks as she starts ringing me.

My eyes widen because this means my makeup skills are definitely not going to pass the test at school.

Maybe I need to pick up a hooded sweatshirt instead to hide in…

“I was in a car accident,” I mutter. “I think I need to grab a sweatshirt too…”

“Wait—”

My eyes burn as I grab one of the pretty, warm sweaters from her to put back. I won’t be able to afford both, and I need to be able to hide in the background, at least in my history class, so I can take my exam.

I feel ashamed at my bruises, because I forced my uncle’s hand, yet it kept me from being raped, so I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel right now.

Swallowing hard, I blink rapidly as I put the sweater away and look at the sweatshirt rack.

“Hey, you didn’t need to do that,” the woman says, running up to me. The tears escape slowly, and I angrily shrug as I force myself to breathe.

I ignore the damn water leaking from me and choose a black and rose-colored hooded sweatshirt that says, “I’m just barely surviving the day. Please leave me alone.”

There’s an adorable skeleton holding up a peace sign, which makes me love it even more.

“I do and I did,” I murmur, keeping my voice steady. It’s still hoarse, sounding as if I’m a pack a day smoker. “I clearly need something to hide my bruises from the wreck. Please add this to my other items.”

“Of… of course,” the cashier stutters. I haven’t even taken an over the counter pain reliever because I hate taking medication. Instead, I let the pain overwhelm my receptors, which slowly creates a soft haze around me.

It still hurts, but less somehow. I can’t explain it.

My total is fifty-five dollars for everything somehow. At my double take, the cashier shrugs, saying a few items were marked down to clearance prices.

It seems odd, but I nod as I give her my card and pay for my new clothes and blankets. While it makes a dent in my paycheck, they’re all items I’ll use every day.

I can also use my tank-tops with the sweaters, and the boots make me happy, because I’m lacking in closed toe shoes that aren’t tennis shoes.

“Thank you,” I murmur, picking up my bags and putting my card away.

“I’m sorry I assumed you have a deadbeat boyfriend,” the cashier says softly. Glancing at her name tag, I see her name is Tammy.

I’m numb. Yes, yes this should be my middle name from now on. I’m also a bit loopy from the pain, so I simply accept her words.

“I would need a boyfriend, for him to be a deadbeat,” I say softly. “I appreciate the concern, though. Bye.”

My clothes trip takes a lot out of me, so I drive home and put my clothes away before crawling into bed.

I’m thankful I emailed my teachers today to tell them I was in a car accident and couldn’t come to class due to my injuries. I’m exhausted, and really don’t want to move again.

Maybe ever.

My eyes slowly begin to droop and I let the heaviness in my limbs pull me with it until I fall asleep. I did what I had to do to survive, now I just have to live with it and make it through my classes.

GAEL

I love watching students scurry into my auditorium on exam days. Some of them look harried, others appear unwashed and gross, while still others look calm and collected.

My examinations are exhausting, so no matter how they walk in, they all walk out the same way.

Questioning every damn move they made on it.

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