Page 8 of She Walks with Broken Things

I didn’t react.

I washed my hair. My body. Slow. Deliberate. Every movement controlled. Measure. Like if I rushed, something might slip through the cracks.

The water ran hot against my skin, but I barely felt it. When I turned it off—the noise was still there. Always there. Who’s going to want this? Bethany’s words lingered, pressing in where the water couldn’t wash them away.

I reached for the towel, drying slowly like my body might break if I didn’t. Then I stopped.

My reflection caught in the mirror and for a second I almost looked away. But I didn’t. My scars caught the light. Thick. Uneven. They ran down my leg, twisted around my hip, pulling the skin in ways it wasn’t meant to move. I lifted my hand. Traced the edge of one. Not gently. Just…feeling it. Where it started and stopped. What it’d taken with it. My breath slowed. Not because I was calm—but because I didn’t know what else to do.

This was my body.

What I lived in.

What I carried.

What I survived.

I tilted slightly, watching the way it moved. How it didn’t move right. Not the way it should. Not the way a normal woman looked. Something tightened inside my chest. Not disgust or shame. No. Something quieter—harder to name.

I lifted my gaze to my eyes. I lived through it—right? I survived. That should’ve meant something. Shouldn’t it? My hand dropped. I wrapped the towel tighter around myself. Standing here—looking at it—felt too real.

One hand gripped the towel around my body, covering what I could, and stepped out. One hand gripped the fabric. The other braced against the wall.

I made my way back to my room. The bed was still made. Sheets twisted where I slept. I wanted to crawl back in. Pull the covers over my head. Pretend none of this was happening.

But it wasn’t about me.

It never was.

It was about them.

I dressed. Ran a comb through my hair. Then turned and headed down the hall.

“Hey,” I called softly, knocking once before opening Mel’s door. “It’s me.”

She stood beside her bed staring at the blue dress laid out in front of her. The scent of toast filled the air. I grabbed a piece, biting into it. “Well, it’s not going to wear itself.”

She shot me a look. It softened almost instantly.

“I can’t.”

I shrugged. “Then don’t.”

“But…I want to.”

I stepped closer, taking her arm gently. “This is your choice, Mel. All of it. If you want…”

I glanced at the dress.

“You could put it on for me. I’d love to see it.”

“For you?”

“Sure. You try on everything else for me.”

She hesitated. Then nodded. “I can do that.”

“Of course you can.