I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the pain relief patches Damon left on the table. My whole body ached. My arms, my legs, my back, everything was burning. I could feel the bruises throb under my skin, like reminders of the humiliation I’d just been through.
I reached for the box with shaky hands, slowly opening it.
"Just pain patches," I whispered to myself.
I picked one up, staring at it. It was small and light, like it could actually help.
But then, suddenly, everything came rushing back. Belinda screaming. The maids were laughing. Them holding me down. Ripping my clothes.
"No," I muttered, shaking my head. "No, no, no..."
Then I asked myself out loud, "Why am I even here?"
My voice cracked as I spoke. It came out weak, like it was crawling out of my throat. I didn’t care. I didn’t want to sound strong anymore. What was the point?
"What did I ever do to deserve this?!" I screamed suddenly, louder than I intended. The sound bounced off the walls, sharp and bitter.
I picked up the box with shaky hands and looked at it like it had the answers. Pain relief patches. What a joke.
Did he think a few stupid patches would fix what they did to me? Did he really think that would be enough? That a bit of painkiller would wipe away the hands that had touched me without my permission... the looks, the hits, the shame?
With a strangled cry, I threw the box as hard as I could. It hit the wall with a dull thud and burst open, patches spilling across the floor like dead petals. I didn’t stop to watch where they landed. I just kept shouting.
"I hate this place!" I yelled at no one in particular. "I hate all of you!"
I began pacing, turning in circles like a caged animal. My hands gripped my hair and tugged. My scalp hurt, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. I needed to do something, or I was going to break. No, maybe I had already broken.
They took everything from me. My dignity. My peace. My home.
I stopped pacing and looked around the room.
"I just want to go home," I whispered.
Tears blurred my vision and slipped down my cheeks.
"I just want to see my dad," I said again, this time in a broken voice, like a child lost in the woods.
But they wouldn’t let me. No one would. Every time I asked, someone gave me a fake smile or a new excuse. And now this? Being stripped and accused like a criminal? Like a thief?
I clutched my stomach as if the pain was inside me now. "I didn’t steal anything," I whispered. "I didn’t... I would never..."
I fell to my knees, exhausted. The cold floor met my skin, and I leaned forward, my hands flat on the ground.
"I miss you, Dad," I said, barely audible. "I miss you so much. Why did I ever come here?"
I dragged myself back to the bed, every step slow and painful. I pulled the covers over my body, curling into a ball like a child hiding from monsters.
But the monsters weren’t under the bed.
They were in the palace.
They were the ones with nice clothes and fake smiles. The ones with power and pretty words. The ones who could do anything to me and walk away like it didn’t matter.
I sniffled and closed my eyes. "I’m not safe here," I whispered into the pillow. "No one sees it. No one cares."
Tears streamed down my cheeks quietly.
"I want to go home," I said again, this time so softly, I wasn’t sure I even said it out loud.
I lay there for what felt like hours, my body sore and my soul tired. My sobs slowed into small hiccups. My pillow was soaked, but I didn’t care. I had no strength left, not to cry, not to scream, not even to think.
Sleep finally crept in like a thief, pulling me into silence.
The soft light of dawn leaked through the curtains and touched my face gently. For a second, I forgot where I was. My mind was caught somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, in that fragile place where dreams still clung to me like shadows. The silence in the room felt foreign, like a pause in the chaos I had grown too used to. I just lay there, staring up at the ceiling, too tired to move, too drained to think. My body ached with a lingering soreness that seemed etched into my bones.
It wasn’t the sharp agony of yesterday, no. That had dulled now, replaced by something heavier. A deep, dragging kind of pain that settled into every part of me. Like a weight I couldn’t shake off, a punishment that kept replaying even after the worst was over. Every breath I took felt like it passed through bruises.
I shifted a little under the blanket, wincing at the effort. My eyes moved slowly around the room, just to make sure I was alone. But something in me froze. A ripple of awareness crept over my skin before my eyes even confirmed it.
I turned my head and stopped cold.
Damon was there. Sitting beside me.
My stomach twisted so hard I thought I might be sick. My whole body tensed. I didn’t know whether to scream or cry. My throat tightened like a fist around it, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe.
He sat casually on the edge of the bed, his hands resting loosely on his thighs. As if this was normal. As if his presence beside me was something I should accept.
"Good morning," he said, his voice calm. Too calm. His lips curled into a small smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes.
My breath caught. I jerked back instinctively, putting as much space between us as I could without making it obvious that I was afraid. My eyes widened on their own, unable to hide my shock.
He noticed. Of course, he did.
"What?" he said lightly, tilting his head. "You look like you just saw a ghost."
The sound of his laugh made my skin crawl. It was smooth, practiced. Empty. There was no guilt in his expression. No shame. Just a strange, easy amusement, was all some kind of game.
I blinked at him, my heartbeat thudding painfully in my chest. I couldn’t speak. My voice had gone somewhere else, slipped away, and taken my courage with it.
His presence was too much.