“If I remember correctly, it happened a month after I started cutting myself. That day, during one of their usual lunch break torments, a senior crossed paths with the leader of the bully and his crew. I'd call him Win.”
Carina’s voice softened as she recalled that moment, her eyes fixed somewhere distant.
Win was someone you noticed right away. Tall and strong, he carried himself with a quiet intensity, his expression serious, like he could silence a room with a single look.
That day, when he saw Kevin shove Carina against the wall, he stepped in without a word, his gaze hardening.
Win’s hand shot out, shoving Kevin backward.
Just a stare from his eyes was enough to be intimidated.
The girls who’d been jeering moments before froze, and at a single glare from him, they scattered, hurrying away without a backward glance.
The silence that followed was heavy, but Carina felt something she hadn’t in a long time.
Win looked at her.
Carina could only nod to every question he asked, her voice caught in her throat.
She wanted to thank him, but the words refused to come. And after that, he simply nodded with softened eyes in return, before walking away.
After that, Kevin and his friends steered clear of her.
Since that day, Carina would be alone in the hallways, her tormentors’ taunts replaced by wary glances from a distance.
She didn’t see Win much, but word of his intervention had spread, and no one wanted to cross him.
Then, unexpectedly, she found herself sitting with a new group—Win and his friends.
They were rough around the edges, the kind of kids teachers watched closely and other students avoided.
With dyed hair, pierced ears, and leather jackets, they looked like the type who’d rather start trouble than avoid it.
But they weren’t unkind to her.
One afternoon, as they lounged on the bleachers behind the school, Win leaned in close.
“Help us with our assignments, and we’ll keep them off your back. Deal?”
It wasn’t an ideal offer, but it was an offer. Carina met his gaze, seeing a flicker of something that almost looked like respect in his eyes, behind the roughness of his words. In this moment, she felt like she was finally being given a choice, however limited.
She nodded. “Deal.”
And so, it began.
---
Every night, Carina sat hunched over her desk, the dim glow of her lamp spilling over textbooks and stacks of paper. She'd grind through her assignments, then turn to the stacks she’d promised to finish for Win and his friends.
Outside her room, her father’s angry voice would rumble down the hallway, clashing with her mother’s quieter protests.
Sometimes, the shouting would go on for hours, but eventually, the house would fall into a heavy silence as the clock crept toward dawn.
Her eyes would blur with exhaustion, but she kept going. Somehow, her grades were rising, each late-night study session pushing her closer to the top. Then, one day, the teacher stood at the front of the class, her voice filled with pride.
“Third in the class,”
She announced, smiling warmly at Carina.
Around her, the other students looked on with blank indifference. A few rolled their eyes, others shrugged dismissively, as if her achievement were nothing more than a small, irrelevant detail.
Carina felt the familiar sting of their apathy, but this time, it didn’t reach as deep. She expected nothing from them—and for once, their lack of approval didn’t weigh her down.
---
Summer break arrived, and with it, a surprising closeness with Win.
They started meeting up outside of school.
Sometimes he’d take her to his dorm, sometimes to a nearby mall. They’d sit on the rooftop of an old parking garage, or in the quiet corner of a café, where he’d buy her drinks and let her talk freely.
He’d listen as she opened up about school, home, all the things she’d never said aloud before.
Sometimes, it was just the two of them. Other times, they’d meet up with Win’s friends.
She had expected them to be rough, like the way they carried themselves at school, but in public, they were surprisingly polished.
They dressed well, moved with a quiet elegance, speaking with a confidence that seemed second nature.
Compared to them, Carina’s old clothes felt worn and faded, her shoes scuffed from too many days walking the same streets. The difference was impossible to ignore.
She couldn’t help but notice how Win’s friends could afford new outfits for every meetup, each time sporting a fresh set of clothes and shoes.
Meanwhile, Carina had her one pair of shoes, her one shirt she wore and rewore, trying her best to make it look new with each outing.
Not because she couldn't afford it. It's just, she would have better things to do.
---
One day, as the sun set and they prepared to part ways, Win reached into his bag, pulling out an envelope.
Without a word, he passed it to her. The envelope was thick, the weight of it almost foreign in her hands.
Curious, Carina waited until she was alone in her room that night before carefully opening it.
Her breath caught at the sight inside—fifty crisp 5,000 bills, stacked neatly.
She’d never held this much money at once before; the sight of it left her wide-eyed.
The next morning, she sought out Win.
She found him at his house, catching him just as he was heading out.
Breathless, she blurted out, “I want to do all your homework.”
Win stopped, raising an eyebrow, surprised by her sudden urgency.
“All my homework?” He chuckled, crossing his arms. “Are you sure? Some of this stuff might be over your head.”
She stood firm, her eyes alight with resolve. “And in return, you pay me monthly. How’s that sound?”
He glanced down at her, seeing something fierce and almost daring in her eyes. He had a little smirk etched into his face.
“I see what you’re after.”
He said quietly, his gaze shifting to one of consideration.
“Alright. But remember, there are eight of us. That’s eight sets of homework. You sure you’re going to survive?”
“Yes!”
Carina answered without hesitation.
Win nodded.
“Deal, then.”
Then, the grind continued.
Day after day, Carina would sit hunched over her desk, juggling her own assignments with the endless stream of homework from Win and his friends.
The workload was relentless. The senior assignments grew more challenging, each problem more complex, each essay more demanding.
Yet, she pushed through, her determination steeling her against exhaustion. She’d work until her eyes burned and her fingers cramped, but she refused to slow down.
At lunch breaks, she’d sit with the seniors, finding a spot among them in the schoolyard. And when it comes to payday, Win would pass an envelope containing the paycheck and the bill.
They were a rough crowd, intimidating to others but familiar to her.
Yet she’d gravitate toward Win.
He was always there to check in, to offer her a reassuring nod, to quietly make sure she was okay.
He was the nicest of his gang, and even though they didn’t share many words, she found comfort in his silent support.
The months slipped by, each one blending into the next as she worked tirelessly. Her savings started to grow, the stack of bills tucked carefully in a small box under her bed that looked filthy.
Almost a year later, she counted her earnings with trembling fingers.
Nearly $2,000 if converted to the value today—an enormous sum for Carina. When she added in the bit she’d saved over the past year, she could almost imagine a fresh start with her mom, maybe even a small place.
About a week before the final exams, Win called her up and invited her out to a café.
It was a dingy, half-lit diner off a side street with ancient leather booths and a single, public pay phone in the back.
She found him waiting there, leaning casually against a booth, already halfway through a soda, with two trays of burgers, fries, and milkshakes laid out.
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“Hey,”
He said, grinning as he waved her over.
“Got something I thought you’d wanna see.”
Carina slid into the cracked leather booth, looking curious as Win unfolded a stack of newspaper ads.
They were property listings for small, modest houses on the edge of the city—homes with old gardens, on streets where the air smelled like pine.
“Thought I’d show you some options.”
They talked as they ate, their voices low in the quiet corner of the diner, where only the hum of the jukebox and the clatter of plates kept them company.
Win wiped his hands, his expression thoughtful as he spoke.
“So… next week, I’m outta here for good,” he said, leaning back in his seat. “Graduation.”
He looked at her earnestly.
“I hope what I’ve given you is enough to help you get somewhere better.”
“It’s more than enough,” Carina replied, smiling back. “You have no idea.”
He tilted his head.
“So what are you planning to do with all that cash?”
Carina glanced down, hesitating for a moment, and then spoke.
“I’m saving it—for something better.” She took a deep breath. “My mom and I… we need to get out. My dad… he’s…” She paused, steadying herself.
“He’s abusive. And if I can just save enough, maybe we can go somewhere new, just her and me.”
“And all this time, you didn’t spend a cent? Even the first bills I gave you?”
She nodded, her cheeks flushing slightly.
“Every bit. It felt too important to waste.”
His eyes looked at the plate below him. His friendly face suddenly faded slowly.
“You’ve got some serious discipline.”
She shrugged, smiling faintly.
“I just… had to. I couldn’t let my mom down. Y'know, once final exams end, I gotta surprise my mother and we'll move.”
Win nodded, and for a moment, they sat there in silence, his gaze holding hers, saying all the things that words didn’t seem to cover, then he slowly looked down to his food and never looked at her anymore.
And in that little corner booth, surrounded by the scent of burgers, old vinyl, and the faint hum of 70s pop drifting from the jukebox, she finally believed that escape was possible, that maybe, just maybe, a better life lay waiting down the road.
Maybe after that, she can move to a better school, visit the therapist to cure her mental problems, buy herself some good clothes and shoes, and use the remaining money to start a new business, or save it and she'll just work a part time job.
After they left, suddenly, one clutched her shoulder from behind, pressing a cloth to her face. There was a chemical sprayed into the cloth. It smelled strong and suffocating.
In a matter of seconds before she could scream, the world went black.
—
In that dim hotel room, Carina's first breath came thick with the sour staleness of sweat and smoke.
Her head throbbed, the world still hazy from whatever they’d used to knock her out.
As the room came into clearer focus, she felt the cold bite of metal against her wrists, bound tightly to the bedpost. A shadow loomed above her, his face a sneer.
Win, his knees were on either side, with a strange glint in his eyes that made her pulse stutter.
His voice was low, like he was speaking to someone beneath her skin.
“Do you honestly think the $2000 was for free?”
He whispered, leaning close, his breath hot against her cheek.
“What a shallow person.”
Her body tensed, instinct screaming, but her muscles were limp, unresponsive.
When she struggled to move, Win used his left hand and pinned her chest down to the bed, blocking her airway and preventing her from screaming loudly.
His other hand reached for his fly as he unzipped his jeans, pulling off every sheet of clothing down there.
He pulled out a bottle of lubricant and just poured a little of it.
No protection, no preparation, he went inside her.
Carina screamed, her voice cracked. But she was muffled by Win. All her scream was swallowed by the thick, damp air pressing down around her.
And without warning, he started.
Her legs were kicking the air, trying to get Win off her. But Win was already in his world. He gasped out of pleasure, inhaling and exhaling heavily.
And not so long, he was done.
Before Carina could process, he tore open her clothes, revealing her bra and the skin underneath and below it.
Her belly, her waist, her hips were discolored, they were purplish and darker than the rest of her skin. Burn marks, bruises, scratches—everything could be seen from a single view.
Win's eyes were wide open, jaw wide dropped, he just stayed there. His erection subsided rapidly, as he knelt there, heart dropped.
That time when they first met, the boss of the gang was only getting started to kick her. Little did he know, it happened almost everyday, and it wasn't always just punches and kicks.
Just as he woke up from contemplating, his friends got on Carina.
They took turns – shadows that moved in and out of her vision like something from a nightmare, each one leaving their mark.
Their moans, their pleasure, the face they made while enjoying it, they looked like sleep paralysis demons.
She tried to fight, but every movement brought a sharper ache.
And those monsters — they didn't just end there. They used everything she had. Her mouth, the other hole, anything that they could reach at that time.
When she could no longer move, she watched their faces, each leering with laughter, taunting her helplessness.
The bed was completely soaked, spots of red were between her legs, and so much disgusting liquid was on the sheets.
When it was over, they let her dress up and walked her to the cold, muddy ground outside.
Rain began to fall, soaking her skin, but she felt nothing.
She didn't even know what she wanted to do anymore.
…
Night.
Carina stood in the bathroom, staring into a mirror that felt like it belonged to someone else.
The reflection was warped, her face strange and pale, eyes vacant as though her soul had fled and left her body hollow.
She felt like a ghost haunting her own skin, unable to escape or recognize the person she saw.
Her right hand tightened around the cutter blade, pressing it against the cold flesh of her left arm, just beside the faded scars that lined her upper arm.
The blade trembled, its edge pressing into her skin with a prickling ache that pulsed in time with her heartbeat.
She imagined it, the release, a sharp burst breaking the numbness inside.
But her hand wouldn't move. Her fingers seemed locked, rigid, caught between wanting to feel something real and the terror of actually doing it.
She dropped the cutter, watching it fall and clatter into the sink, the sound shattering the tense silence around her.
Leaning back against the wall, she slid down until she felt the cold tiles press against her back, grounding her in the present but offering no comfort.
Tears slid silently down her cheeks, but she didn’t sob. Her mind felt distant, like she was slipping out of her body, her consciousness flickering like a candle at the end of its wick.
The room was still, yet she felt surrounded, as if unseen eyes watched her, judging, mocking, waiting for her to break.
A pressure settled on her chest, growing tighter, suffocating her in silence until it felt like she was drowning in her own mind, with nowhere to escape.
…
The following week, a growing sense of unease began to shadow Carina’s every step.
She could feel her body betraying her in ways she couldn’t ignore, it could be described as exhaustion beyond tiredness, aches that went bone-deep, and a faint ringing in her ears that never fully went away.
Despite this, she tried to push on, determined to keep her routine steady, to keep her walls up.
In class, she clung to her pen, forcing herself to focus on the words in front of her.
But the letters hurt her head every time she tried to concentrate. Each time, she blinked it away, clutching the edge of her desk, willing herself to stay grounded, to just hold on. She couldn’t afford to draw attention to herself. Not again.
“Man… I think I really should do abortion.”
During breaks, she found herself drifting into moments of stillness, watching her classmates chatter in groups, laughing with the kind of careless ease that felt worlds away.
She’d catch a flash of Win’s face in the halls, just a glimpse, but it sent a chill through her bones.
She lowered her gaze and hurried past, her heart beating painfully fast, each time feeling a quiet dread she couldn’t shake.
That Wednesday, in the middle of a midterm exam, she could feel the exhaustion pressing down on her harder than ever.
Her hand trembled as she wrote, the ink smudging as her focus wavered. Her head throbbed, a piercing pain that pulsed at her temples.
She tried to breathe through it, to ignore the dizziness creeping over her, gripping her pen tighter to steady her hand.
But the ringing in her ears grew louder, drowning out the scratching of pencils, the muffled coughs, the shuffle of papers.
Her vision darkened at the edges, narrowing until the room seemed to close in around her. She felt a hot trickle on her upper lip and touched her fingers to her nose, pulling them away to find blood smeared across her fingertips.
In that instant, her strength faltered completely. Her hand slipped from the desk, her body giving way as she slumped forward, her head resting heavily on her arm. The whispers of her classmates rose, punctuated by gasps, their voices echoing as if from a distance.
Time slowed, her awareness drifting in and out as she sensed the scramble of footsteps around her, the concerned murmurs of her teacher.
She was faintly aware of someone pressing a hand to her shoulder, asking if she was okay, but the words were swallowed up by the thick fog enveloping her mind.
By that time, the test paper, her forearm, the desk, and her skirt was already soaked in blood.
They guided her to the nurse’s office, her steps unsteady as she leaned on them, her head spinning with each step.
She tried to piece together what had happened, the details slipping through her grasp.
All she could feel was heaviness.
Lying down in the nurse's office, Carina closed her eyes, letting herself drift, feeling the weight of her secrets pressing down on her more than ever.
I'm gonna fail this test…
…
That night, Carina sat alone at the kitchen table, the dim light casting long shadows across the quiet room.
She’d kept her secrets locked away for so long, but the weight had become unbearable, pressing on her chest like a vise.
And her body had been betraying her with nausea and fatigue, and the recent medical checkup ruined it even further.
The test results were evident.
It was a blood test.
Her mother’s face was pale the whole time, her expression frozen in stunned silence.
Carina searched her eyes, waiting for understanding, for comfort. But the silence hung heavy, thickening as footsteps echoed down the hall.
Her father appeared, his face already darkening as he caught the last words.
His gaze snapped to Carina, a fury lighting in his eyes she’d never seen before.
He crossed the room in a heartbeat, his face contorted with anger, his voice cracking like thunder.
“Pregnant?”
His words sliced through the quiet, each one landing with a force that made her flinch.
Before she could answer, he grabbed her arm, his grip bruising, dragging her roughly down to the floor. She barely had time to process the shock before the first blow landed—a kick to her side, the impact exploding through her, each word of his rage punctuated by another brutal strike.
“Filthy.”
He spat, his voice dripping with disgust.
“Carina. Tell us honestly. I found an iron box filled with so much money. Where'd you get this much money?”
Carina's mom held the metal box that held the money she had worked for almost a year.
At that time, her eyes shrunk. She opened her mouth, breathed in. But before words came out, her father shouted first.
“It's prostitution! If it weren't for that then she wouldn't have come home pregnant!”
“Carina!!!”
Her mom was hysterical.
“We have worked so hard to school you and feed you. What is lacking in your life that you'd do this?!”
Without warning, her father scooped the entire money out of the box.
Holding the crumpled bills in his hand, the small, hard-earned lifeline she’d clung to as her only hope.
With one swift movement, he pulled out a match and struck it, holding it close to the bills.
The flames ignited in an instant, the fire spreading quickly as he watched, his face illuminated by the eerie glow. His eyes glinted, cold and unfeeling, as he held her gaze, his expression twisted into a sneer.
“Dirty money.”
He muttered, as the flames consumed everything she had worked for, reducing it to ashes that crumbled to the floor.
Carina could only watch, her vision swimming, her body numb as the heat of the flames flickered out.
The smell of smoke filled the air, and as the last of the ashes settled, she felt herself slipping away, the world fading around her.
Her father’s voice became a dull hum, a muffled roar that echoed faintly as she drifted somewhere beyond it all—a place where pain and sound dissolved.
“I'm a mess.”
…
Later, alone in the dim bathroom, Carina felt a calm settle over her.
The small, confined space was bathed in the sickly yellow glow of a single light bulb, flickering faintly above her, casting shadows that stretched and danced across the walls.
The silence around her was thick, pressing in from all sides, wrapping her in a kind of stillness she hadn't felt in so long.
Her hands moved without hesitation as she picked up the cutter blade from the sink, its cold steel glinting under the dim light.
She traced the blade’s edge lightly over the radial artery on her wrist, the metal biting just enough to leave a faint line, then opening it wider as she enjoyed the pain.
Her hand was steady for the first time in weeks.
The faint, red beads blossomed against her pale skin, spilling slowly down her wrist, mesmerizing her as they followed an unbroken path to the cold tile below.
She watched the droplets fall, one by one, the echo of their impact somehow loud in the silence.
At that moment, it was as if the world outside the bathroom no longer existed. The chaos, the rage, the sneers—they were gone, replaced by an eerie, all-consuming quiet that settled around her like a shroud. She felt her pulse slow, her breaths coming shallow and even, like a strange, twisted lullaby coaxing her toward the void.
Her reflection stared back at her from the mirror, gaunt and hollow-eyed, a ghost of the girl she used to be.
It was as if another person was looking back, someone distant and unrecognizable, her face shadowed and distorted in the dim light.
She barely recognized the haunted eyes gazing back at her, empty yet filled with a profound, aching sorrow.
As more blood dripped down, she became aware of a sound—a soft, rhythmic whisper, something just beyond hearing, echoing through the silence.
She strained to make it out, realizing with a chill that it was her own voice, mumbling under her breath, words she couldn’t quite grasp, as if some buried part of her was speaking without permission, whispering secrets meant to stay hidden.
There was no one left to call her names, no mocking laughter echoing in her ears, no accusations, no voices.
Only the silence, a hollow quiet that swallowed everything, growing louder with each beat of her slowing heart. It was a stillness that filled her entirely, wrapping around her, heavy and unbreakable, like the walls of a tomb closing in.
And in the quiet, she felt herself slipping further, letting the darkness seep in, its cold fingers numbing the pain, stealing her breath until all that was left was a fragile, unsettling peace—the kind that comes only in surrender.
“I hate my life.”
***