Father never left a single mark on me.
No matter what was the fare of the night, were it rape, torture, verbal abuse, or just general pain, it would never show on the outside. On the outside, I was just as perfect as him. My skin was smooth, pale, and unmarred, my body showed no blemishes, however intense the pain.
And in a way, I loved my father for it. Yes, it hurt, it hurt so fucking bad, but he allowed me to remain whole and beautiful, and no one ever knew.
No one.
And I was happy.