Chapter Thirty-Nine
I’m silent when I leave for school. Not a word to my mother, who looks more worried than upset. Or to my dad, who may be more shocked this morning than by anything I said last night.
I don’t say anything to those who stare. Or to the teachers who question my antics. I’m not called to the principal’s office. I am photographed by the school paper. But I refuse the interview. Everything I have to say is written on me.
Shut Up! is scrawled in silver marker across the black duct tape sealing my mouth—for every call for help that’s silenced.
Danika and Jonathan gave me permission to be their voices.
Bruises shade my jaw and wrap around my neck in the shape of finger marks. I SEE YOU screams in bold black paint across my fitted white shirt. Be(A)ware bleeds red along the hem.
When I turn to walk away, the message in blue lingers: Abuse(rs) may be standing right next to you.
And suddenly, everyone is looking at everyone else. But they still don’t see what’s happening behind closed doors. Right next door.
Or right before their eyes.