Ava. The name sliced through me like a razor-sharp knife. No physical beating could hurt more than thinking of her. Her face before she walked away would haunt me for the rest of my days, and thanks to my fucking cursed memory, I remembered every detail of every second. The scent of blood and sweat staining my skin, the way her shoulders trembled as she clutched the blanket with white-knuckled hands…the moment the faint light of hope died in her eyes.
So dramatic
