The silence after he left was louder than the slap.
Upstairs, a door closed.
And then nothing.
No footsteps. No shouting. No retaliation.
Just absence.
My hand was still burning.
I stared at it like it didn't belong to me.
I had never hit anyone before.
Not like that.
Not with intention.
The kitchen felt colder suddenly. The tiles beneath my bare feet unforgiving. My breathing wouldn't steady. It came in shallow pulls, like I had run miles instead of standing still.
I tried to walk.
I didn't make it far.
My knees gave out before I reached the doorway, and I sank down hard onto the kitchen floor, the cold tile pressing through my thin clothes.
For a second I just sat there.
Staring ahead.
Then the shaking started.
Not dramatic sobbing. Not loud crying.
Just trembling.
"What is wrong with me?" I whispered into the empty room.
The words sounded small.
Victor's voice echoed in my head.
"You learned early that love doesn't come when you ask for it, you beg".
Beg?.
