Chapter 4 – Wounds Left Unspoken

Nadine remained silent. Tears continued to stream down her face, soaking her pale skin and empty gaze. She didn’t know what mistake she had made to deserve such cruel treatment.

With trembling hands, Nadine picked up her scattered clothes from the floor, one by one. She hurriedly put them on while trying to suppress the sobs rising in her chest. Her body was exhausted, her soul shattered. All she wanted now was to leave this room… alive.

“Can I go now?” she asked softly, keeping her distance from the man.

The man didn’t answer. He just sat silently on the bed, leaning back, then lifted his hand to call her. “Come here.”

Nadine remained standing. Her head hung low, her body trembling.

“I don’t like it when you speak to me that way,” he said coldly.

With heavy steps, Nadine finally moved closer, though she kept a meter’s distance. But the man gestured again, demanding she come nearer. Nadine held her breath. Slowly, she stepped forward.

The man’s eyes scanned her face, still marked by tears. Suddenly, Justin grabbed her hand. Nadine flinched, but she stayed silent, resigned—just wanting it all to end.

Once again, the man spoke cruelly, mocking her body, insulting her without a trace of mercy.

Nadine didn’t respond. She remained silent. Humiliated, degraded, touched, even forced—she could only close her eyes. She didn’t want to remember anything. One thought repeated in her mind: “I have to go home. I have to stay alive.”

After it was all over, Justin gave a thin smile. A smile of victory—cold and heartless.

“Go,” he said lightly, as if what had just happened was no more than a casual conversation.

Nadine gave a faint nod. She picked up her small bag from the floor, then staggered out of the room. Her body ached, her head throbbed painfully. The wounds on her body might be hidden, but the ones inside—those were deeper and real.

She walked to the bathroom in the back corner of the nightclub where she worked. A small, dimly lit space. On the floor, remnants of violence remained: drying blood, shards of glass, and footprints left uncleaned.

Nadine knelt. With bare hands and tears still flowing, she began cleaning everything. She scrubbed the floor not just because it was her job, but because she wanted to erase the traces of what had happened tonight. As if by removing the stains, the trauma would disappear as well.

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Once everything looked clean, Nadine stood up. She retrieved her cap that had been thrown aside earlier, then opened the Bolt app—the ride-hailing service she relied on when the night grew too late.

The ride home felt like a nightmare that wouldn’t end. The city lights slowly faded into the dim glow of the outskirts. The car stopped in a quiet area, where old buildings stood close together, blocking out the moonlight.

Nadine stepped out, paid with the last of her app balance, then looked up—toward the old apartment building where she lived.

The building was worn, its paint peeling from time and weather. There was no elevator, only narrow concrete stairs that creaked with every step. A damp smell and dust greeted anyone who entered. It was one of the cheapest apartments in the area. She had no other choice.

With a body on the verge of collapse, Nadine began climbing the stairs. One step at a time. She had to reach the fourth floor—the very top. Every step felt like carrying the weight of all the suffering she had endured tonight.

When she finally reached her room, she opened the door quietly. The small space welcomed her with silence. There was only a narrow bed with a thin mattress, a flimsy plastic wardrobe, and a single dim light hanging from the ceiling.

In the corner of the room, there was a small stove and a sink that rarely produced hot water. There was no heater. Winter had come early this year, and the night air pierced through to the bone.

Nadine collapsed onto the bed. She cried as hard as she could. Her sobs were muffled by the worn pillow she clutched tightly. Her body shook, her soul torn.

Not long after, she dragged herself to the shared bathroom at the end of the hallway. She poured cold water over her body, then began scrubbing her skin harshly—as hard as she could. As if, by scrubbing hard enough, the feeling of filth would disappear. As if the pain could dissolve with the water.

When she finished, Nadine stood before a small mirror on the bathroom wall. There, she saw her reflection: swollen eyes, cracked lips, bruised cheeks.

“I can’t go to the store looking like this…” she murmured softly.

On her neck, the marks of strangulation were still visible. Her wrists were bruised and blue. Her pale skin was covered in silent witnesses of violence no one knew about.

Besides working at the nightclub, Nadine also worked at a clothing store from seven in the morning to five in the evening. But tomorrow… she knew she couldn’t do it. Not just her body, but her heart was too broken.

She returned to her bed, wrapped herself in a thin blanket, and curled into a ball. Cold. Empty. Quiet. But that wasn’t the worst part.

“Dad… Mom…” she whispered faintly, almost like the wind. “Nadine will hold on for you. I’ll keep working, keep saving… so Dad can continue his treatment. I promise…”

The last tear fell on her cheek. Her eyes slowly closed. But inside her, the wound remained open—waiting for time… or maybe never to truly heal.

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