Bruised

She is curled up in the fetal position on the floor of her bedroom closet. Behind her blazers and winter coats she manages to pull her purple pea coat off the hanger and slip in on backwards so that her back is still bare. As she breathes in, her entire rib cage vibrates and she pinches the medallion hanging from her silver chain with her pointer finger, middle finger, and thumb. She lifts it about four inches away from her chest and then presses it back into her skin. Lift and press. Lift and press.

            She wakes up and her lips are chapped. She pushes her self up right and licks her hands to wipe over her fat swollen face to clear off the salt that is now dried on her face. A sharp sting in her abdomen reminds her where she is. Her hand slightly shakes as she reaches for the closet door handle and opens it just enough to she her bedroom. Her desk chair is fallen down and her bed has no one in it. With the pea coat still wrapped around her, she crawls out on her knees. She looks into the long mirror, which is next to her open door. In the mirror she can see him. He is sitting upright on the couch with his head hanging to his side and is still clutching a bottle of Bacardi. She looks around and spots her phone, shattered on the floor across he room. She walks over to pick it up, which seems to still function regardless of the damage. She throws three pairs of underwear; two shirts and a pair of jeans in her back pack and tip toes to the front door. Before she opens the door, she looks back at him, and then into the mirror. She sees a bruise on her chest behind her medallion. She wraps her fist around it and walks out.