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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