Refusal

Dhalia POV

I’m startled awake by the sound of something smashing. Groaning, I push myself up from where I’d been slumped against the door, my body aching from the awkward position. Every muscle protests as I stand, and I stretch, trying to shake off the stiffness. The bathroom where I’d holed up last night feels even smaller in the cold light of morning.

I make my way to the shower, hoping for some warmth to soothe my sore limbs, but when I turn on the faucet, nothing happens. The pipes groan, and I twist the taps in frustration, but not a drop of water comes out. Great—no water.

Sighing, I strip off the almost-dry, muddy dress from last night and change into whatever I could scavenge from the wreck of this house. The old, worn t-shirt clings to my skin and the faded leggings are threadbare in places. Slipping on the trainers with holes in them, I gather up the dress and shoes, feeling the weight of the past in every step as I throw them into the trash.

I catch a glimpse of myself in