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TWENTY SEVEN | Bruised

[LIZZY]

When I woke up this morning, I wasn’t in my room. I was hurt. Bruised. And my maid uniform wasn’t anywhere near me. Instead, I was swimming in an oversized black shirt - which smelt quite familiar, even the bed smelt something overfamiliar - and that was it. I tried to remember what the heck happened last night, and finally, when I did, I was foaming at the mouth.

“That bastard!”

Grumbling incoherent profanities under my breath, I jumped out of bed and instantly cried because of the razor-sharp pain erupting from my feet, the moment the base of my legs planted on the cold tiled floor.

“Shit!”

My butt landed on the floor. I screamed one more time when I tried to get up with the support of my hands. My wrists were terribly bruised, and it stung like some real bitch.

Hot tears prickled at the corners of my eyes and the salt burnt my cheeks like they were on fire. I hold my knees toget

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