Page 11 of The Wrong Play

I had wanted to fight. I really had. But my body was already shutting down, the way it always did when I pushed too hard. And he didn’t care. He took what he wanted, his hands rough, his voice coaxing, telling me how good I felt, how lucky I was that he still wanted me even like this.

Even when I was weak. Even when I was broken. Even when I was sick.

After, when he was gone, I lay curled in bed, the sheets pulled up to my chin, staring blankly at the ceiling. My limbs ached, my skin raw and bruised. A single tear slipped from the corner of my eye, trailing down my temple and disappearing into the pillow.

I couldn’t do this anymore.

I turned my head toward the nightstand, my heart pounding as my gaze landed on the small pair of silver scissors sitting beside my forgotten notebook. My fingers twitched.

It would be so easy.

Just a few seconds—the pain would be something I could control. Something I could see.

Not this endless, gnawing ache in my chest. Not the exhaustion that lived in my bones. Not the way my skin felt too tight, too bruised, too tainted.

I reached for them, my fingers brushing the cool metal, and something in me settled. A terrible, quiet relief.

This was a choice. This was something that was mine.

I curled my fingers around the handle, bringing them closer, my pulse slowing as I pressed the tip against the delicate skin of my wrist. Just a test. Just to see what it would feel like.

A single harsh breath left my lungs.

Then—movement.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught something in the mirror across the room.

I looked up, and everything inside me stilled.

The girl staring back at me was a stranger.

Pale. Gaunt. Dark circles hollowed out her once-bright eyes, her cheeks sunken, her lips cracked. Her collarbones jutted out sharply, her skin washed out beneath the dim glow of her bedside lamp.

She looked sick. She looked lost. She looked…already gone.

My breath hitched, and my fingers spasmed, the scissors slipping from my grasp and clattering against the floor.

A choked sob ripped out of me, raw and unexpected.

How had I let it get this bad? How had I let him convince me that this was all I was?

I covered my mouth with both hands, my shoulders trembling.

I thought about the girl I used to be. Broken for sure, but one who dreamed about going to college, about escaping this house and this town and this life that had never really been hers. The girl who used to believe she had a future.

And then I thought about him.

How he had taken that from me.

Piece by piece.

How he had carved out every last shred of self-worth I had, replacing it with his voice, his control, his will.

You need me.

No one else will want you.

No one else will put up with you.

---