sixty-eight

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The counseling center is a madhouse when I walk in. I only catch fragments of people's sentences.

"We've never had this happen-"

"Poor girl-"

"What do we do?"

"Who do I talk to?"

"Who did it, I wonder?"

"Should we even be worrying?"

I take a few steps forward and the room goes silent. Everyone stares at me. 

"Mia," someone breathes.

I look to my left and see my counselor. "Yes?"

"Come here, dear." 

I follow her into her office. A police officer and a lady in a business suit are waiting.

"Hello, Mia. I'm Risha Sidana. How are you feeling, dear?"

"I'm fine," I tell her.

"We got a report, Mia. It said you have bruises on your shoulder?"

I glance between the adults, my thoughts flipping back to the girl in the bathroom. "Is that it?"

My counselor, Ms. Binkman, sighs. "Mia, can we see your shoulder?"

I freeze. "But-"

"Mia, we want to help you. This, in no way, will be reflected badly on you."

I close my eyes. How dare these people intrude in my life? part of me thinks. Then, maybe this is how I get my father out of my life.

"Mia?"

I pull down my hoodie so that my shoulder pops out. There they are, my bruises, ready to be seen.

"How did this happen?"

I sigh and explain everything.

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