“Maybe you should start learning how to live with it.” “But I need to be safe. Right now!” He keeps his eyes on the paperwork, and when he looks up at me, I sense anger, or maybe dislike, almost like a vapor coming from his eyes. Though it’s just a small hint, I feel rage bubbling up. I want him to see my scars. I want him to see me bleeding and smashing my head against the wall. I want him to know what it’s like being me.
