The Bitter Taste of Memory

Freya's P.O.V:

I sprinted down the dimly lit hallway, my bare feet slapping against the cold floorboards. My chest heaved with every jagged breath. Reaching my tiny room, I slammed the heavy wooden door shut and shoved the lock into place. My legs gave out. I slid down the rough surface of the wall, hitting the floor as a hysterical sob ripped from my throat.

*Whore.*

The word echoed endlessly