Black and Blue
Across her upper arm, her inner thighs- little imprints that said where they had been. The force that had been made by their touch. Clearly, it was too much to ask to leave her with her shame; they had to wound her too. A bruised body to match her bruised ego.
Another on her shin where she had fell, hurrying to get home. Six-inch heels, five rounds of drinks, and the sheet of water along the pavement was enough to do that to her. Cursing, her arms had trembled as she struggled to stand up.
Above the knee was a burn mark, blistered, discoloured. She had stamped the end of her cigarette against her skin, extinguishing the burning paper. And it had hurt. It had hurt far more than the bruises that had been made along her body by men.
Amanda was like a doll, tossed away and uncared for. Left in a heap of garbage where she was easily forgotten and easily broken. Perhaps once, she had been pretty and charming, but it was hard to tell when she had been torn apart.