Saving Viola

I sat up head pounding so hard the room swam in front of me, where was I?
I looked around, then I looked at myself; the bile rose in my throat as I remembered what had happened thee night before, it shouldn't have affected me. It was the same every time, today there were only bruises, but before there had been bite marks, scratch marks, grazes from shackles, whip marks and even burns from candle wax all over my pale skin. I began to sob softly, as I got up and collected my clothes and began to put them on.

A jet of warm water hit my forehead, alleviating some of the pain left from a night of drink and drugs. I began to lather shampoo into my long, dark hair. When that was done I did the same with conditioner, while letting it sit I began to rub raspberry body wash over my skin, noticing how my bones were beginning to stick out painfully underneath it. I sighed, there was nothing I could do; if my father or anyone caught me eating I would be forced to purge. I washed off the bubbles and conditioner, turned off the water and stepped out of the tub, wrapping a soft towel around myself.

Looking in the mirror I saw a pair of bright green eyes staring back at me, I saw my pale skin with a slight speckling of freckles, high cheekbones and arched brows. I was what some would consider beautiful, but years of verbal and physical abuse had put to any thoughts like that firmly out of my head, awful thoughts had taken their place, whispering voices saying mean and spiteful words that left me broken and sometimes bleeding. Not that the men with their greedy hands and wandering eyes ever took any notice of my cuts and scars. They just wanted my body.