The Backlash Of My Scars
Language: en
The countdown is at seventy-two hours. In my eyes, these people have been dead to me for a long time—rotting from the inside out, stained beyond redemption. It happened on April Fool’s Day. To coax a smile out of their precious "golden boy," my fiancé and my sister decided to turn me into a literal plaything. Toby, the boy they brought home to replace me, laughed as he shredded my clothes. He took a tube of lipstick and scrawled the word “BITCH” across my forehead in jagged, crimson strokes. When I didn't react—when I just stood there, hollow and still—he lost interest in the art and…