It’s just a fucking door, I tell myself as I close my eyes and drag in some steadying breaths. But even so, it takes me several minutes to come back to myself. And I hate that I’ve become so weak. The Mercedes De La Rosa I know never showed fear. She didn’t startle over the slightest unexpected noise or jump whenever someone came into the room. She didn’t cry for no reason at all, and she certainly didn’t let a fucking man wound her pride.

I don’t know what’s happening to me, but I know I don’t like whatever it is. To make things worse, everyone is looking at me like I’m a delicate little doll, handling me with kid gloves to make sure I don’t break.

Today will have to be different. I will need to make sure of it, for Solana and Georgie’s sake. They need to see the Mercedes they know and love. They need to leave here with nothing less than confidence in my assurances I’m okay, for their own safety. I don’t need Judge to remind me of that.

With a shuddered breath, I pick up the fallen tube of lipstick and cap it, returning it to my bag and zipping it up. Then I stare at my reflection as my fingers move to the knot of my robe, lingering with hesitation. I haven’t looked at any of the marks other than the one still fading on my wrist. I haven’t been brave enough. But I know if I want to return to myself, it’s time to face it. I need to see the fresh scars left by another man’s anger for me to bear for all of eternity.

I close my eyes and unknot the belt slowly, forcing the material off my shoulders until it slides over my body and pools at my feet. My legs feel far too stiff as I pivot, turning my head over my shoulder and sucking in a sharp breath before I force my eyes open.

A second passes, followed by another, and confusion melts over me as I examine the flesh I was certain would be forever ruined. Except, there is only one faint mark that’s nearly healed, a light pink line across my left thigh. And I can’t make sense of it. I don’t understand.

My trembling fingers move over the skin for confirmation as I wonder if I’m hallucinating. But clearly, I’m not. I can feel nothing but smooth skin where I was convinced there were deep cuts. My mind drifts back to that night, and I shake as I recall the time that passed afterward.

They kept me drugged, but why? Was it for the pain, or something else?