Terrified of his wrath, which, like all of his vices, had the capability to take over him. She checked the lock on her door over and over again before leaning her back against the hard wooden door and trying to control her breathing. She shut her eyes, trying to block out everything. His words were carved into her eyelids; it was all she could see. Her head rang with the sound of his fist connecting with her face. She could taste metal, her blood filling continually filling her mouth even though she spat the sticky substance onto the floor next to her.

Why bother telling me how you feel? It doesn't matter.

She could have kept her mouth shut. Accept that her destiny was to come to his every beck and call, watch him using other women just the same as he used her. What had happened to the boy she knew? The boy who would never hurt her, who would fight for her and had the ability to feel something other than anger. She sighed shakily, too afraid to leave the door incase he tried to get in, she was sure the locks wouldn't keep him away. Her sobs grew thin as she slid to the floor, her eyes still shut tight, as if trying to erase the memory, and her cheek throbbing from the blow. Her tongue searched her mouth for the cut and she drew her knees up to her chest, burrowing her head into them as her heart tore completely in two. She had been fighting in wars since a child and she had never felt an agony quite like this. A pain that ripped through her entire body and seared her brain, leaving internal burns as a constant reminder that Pein would never love her.

. . .

Her head jerked up suddenly. It was pitch black although pinpricks of light lay just beyond the window. Her eyes were red from tears and weary from slumber. She didn't remember falling asleep, and she was still slumped against the door. Her limbs were heavy and she had no energy to move. Tipping her head back until it hit the wood, she stared up at the lock on the towering door. Should she leave? Dare she venture into the open where the predator could catch its prey? Of course not. She moaned drearily, her head was thumping and her cheek was slightly swollen. Gently she rose from her cold seat and made her way to the bathroom. Avoiding the mirror at all costs, she removed her piercing roughly, throwing it in the general direction of the sink and proceeded to undress. Throwing her thin clothes, including a bloodied top into the corner of the room she climbed into the shower. Turning the water on distractedly, her mind reeling along with her stomach as she let the water wash over her. Wishing it would clean her of her impurities like the water had cleaned the sink so easily earlier.

. . .

For two hours she had leant against the wet wall, waiting for the water to disinfect her of her sins. Eventually she slid out of the shower, ignoring the hair that stuck to her bruised face. Quickly redressing, ignoring the droplets of water slinging to her skin, making her clothes stick to her uncomfortably, she left her piercing out and her cloak abandoned. Suddenly she realized she had never taken her paper flower out of her hair. She glanced back at the shower to see the sullied pulp of origami lying there disheveled and pathetic. She scoffed at the sight. What a perfect metaphor.