—“This will teach you not to play with me, Aslin. And of course, not to act like a whore with any man who walks into my house,”—Alexander said as he released my hands, kissed my lips, and got up from on top of me. Then he walked out the door, and I heard the click of the lock turning from the outside.

—“Aaaaah!”—I screamed in pain as I saw my broken fingers. I tried to sit up in bed and, as best I could, dragged myself to the door. I tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. That bastard had locked me in.

—“Alexander, open the door! My fingers hurt, I need to go to the hospital! Please, open it!”—I begged, but no one answered on the other side.

It was obvious he planned to leave me locked in there all night—or maybe for days. My heart broke at the thought. I didn’t want to live through the same hell again.

I ran to the bathroom in desperation, opened the medicine cabinet, and grabbed a pair of tweezers and some adhesive tape. Then, with clumsy movements, I sat back on the bed, shoved t