Most girls who’ve been in captivity for as long as I have don’t make it out alive. And when they do, they aren’t really living. They’re shells of who they once were, too broken to ever function normally. I’m scared this might be the end of the line for me, because at what point does the damage become too great? You can’t glue something back together when you don’t have all the pieces. And that’s exactly what he’s done—slowly stolen parts of me so that I’m impossible to repair.
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