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... athroom and grabbed a bathrobe. When she saw her reflection in the mirror, she was horrified. The expletive came naturally. “Son of a b*tch…”


There were love bites all over her body. The marks were numerous and peppered her whole body — her back, her thighs, even her insteps were not spared. Some marks were close to each other and looked like peach blossoms on her fair and easily-bruised skin. She let out a groan, thinking about how long it would take for all the hickeys to fade away.< ...

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“Haven’t I suffered enough? Can’t I just rest?” I cried out. Why would I want to stay back in such a cruel world?

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