Page 12 of Mortify

Noon. Don't be late.

Then another:

Wear the dress.

My hands shake as I text back a simple:

OK

I should be getting ready for my shift at the fire station.

Should be putting on my EMT uniform, preparing to save lives, preparing to be useful.

Instead, I'm calling in sick for the third time in two weeks, lying to Gwen about a stomach bug that won't go away.

"Everly? Again?" Gwen's voice shows me how concerned she is, even through the phone. "Honey, are you sure you're okay? This isn't like you."

"I'm fine," I lie, hating how easily the words come now. "Just can't shake this bug. I don't want to get anyone else sick."

"Have you seen a doctor?"

The irony makes me want to laugh. Or cry.

"I have an appointment," I say instead. Another lie. "I'm sure it's nothing."

"Well, feel better. Vail says to try ginger tea for the nausea."

"Thanks. Tell her I said hi."

I hang up before Gwen can ask more questions.

Before her concern can break through the walls I've built to survive.

The shower is scalding hot, but I barely feel it.

I'm too focused on cataloging the damage—the bruise on my ribs from last week has faded to yellow-green, the fingerprints on my upper arms are barely visible now.

My jaw still aches where he grabbed it four days ago, though the mark has faded enough that makeup covers it.

I've become an expert at tracking the lifecycle of bruises.

Purple-black to blue to green to yellow to gone.

Until the next ones appear.

An endless cycle of damage and healing that never quite completes before starting again.

The water runs over my skin, and I wish it could wash away more than just the surface.

Wish it could cleanse the shame that lives in my bones, the fear that's taken up permanent residence in my chest.

"Just this once more," I whisper to myself, the same lie I always tell. "Keep Bjorn safe. Keep everyone safe. That's all that matters."

But somewhere deep down, I know it's never just once more with Dylan.

Each time I go back, he takes another piece of me.

Each time I think I've hit rock bottom, he shows me there's further to fall.

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