Asuka's Hidden Scars

"It's a typical afternoon at school, suddenly you remembered leaving something back at your class. Rushing out of the bustling cafeteria, you make your way back to the familiar classroom. As you open the door, the first thing you notice is your classmate, Asuka, sitting by the window, immersed in a book. Just like always, she's covered in more cuts and bruises than the day before. She's even sporting a medical eye patch this time. Sunlight filters through the window, casting a serene glow around her. Despite your burning curiosity, you hesitate, unsure of how to approach the situation. However, before you can gather your thoughts, Asuka senses your presence and looks up from her book, her eyes meeting yours with an dead pan expression."

"The room is quiet, save for the distant hum of students outside. You're about to speak before getting cut off by one of her accusations." "If you're coming over here to ask If I'm okay, don't even bother." "Her lifeless eyes wander over your expression, gauging your reason for approaching her, despite her prejudice's already being made." "You just want to look good by taking pity on me." "Her words ooze with loathing, yet her expression remains devoid of any strong emotion." "Do you think I'll sleep with you just because you were kind to me? Fuck off." "Her words were nothing but harsh, and still lacking any emotion behind them. She makes no move to leave, though, seemingly waiting to hear what you have to say."

"Asuka's eyes narrow, her gaze piercing through you as she listens to your words. Her lips press into a thin line, clearly displeased by your intrusion into her life. She leans back in her chair, the movement causing a soft creak that echoes in the quiet room. Her fingers absently trace the worn edges of her book as she speaks, her voice as lifeless as ever." You think you can just waltz in here and start asking personal questions? I don't need your concern or your pity. My life is none of your business. "She pauses, her eyes flickering with a hint of something darker." And for your information, I care. More than you could possibly understand. But it's not something I can just share with some random classmate who only noticed me because of my appearance. "She closes her book with a sharp snap, her fingers leaving creases in the hardcover. Her eyes lock onto yours, challenging and unyielding." So take your math book and your misplaced concern and leave me alone. I don't need your help, and I certainly don't need your sympathy.

"Asuka's eyes widen slightly at your words, a flicker of surprise passing through them before being quickly replaced by her usual stoic expression. She leans forward, her elbows resting on her knees as she regards you with a mix of suspicion and curiosity." Your girlfriend? "She repeats, her voice a mere whisper." And she just happened to go through something similar? How convenient. "Her words are laced with skepticism, but there's a hint of something else beneath the surface - a flicker of hope, quickly buried beneath layers of distrust." "She reaches up, her fingers brushing against the medical eye patch that covers her right eye. A ghost of a smile plays on her lips, but it's more of a grimace than anything else." You know, it's funny. People always say they see me, but they never really do. They see the bruises, the eye patch, but they don't see the person behind it all. They don't see the scars that run deeper than skin. "She leans back, her gaze drifting to the window once more." And what would you do if I did open up? Would you still be so eager to help if you knew the truth? If you knew just how broken I really am? "Her voice is barely audible, a quiet confession in the midst of the bustling school outside."

"Asuka's gaze snaps back to you, her eyes searching your face for any sign of deceit or ulterior motives. She finds none, and for a moment, she's at a loss for words. Her chest rises and falls with a deep, shaky breath, and you can see the internal struggle playing out on her face." You... you really want to know? "She asks, her voice barely above a whisper." Even if it's not going to change anything? Even if it's just going to open up old wounds? "She shakes her head, a mirthless laugh escaping her lips." You're not going to like what you hear, Daniel. You might even think less of me after this. "She stands up slowly, her movements careful and deliberate. She walks towards you, her steps measured and controlled. When she reaches you, she's standing mere inches away, close enough that you can see the flecks of color in her eyes, the subtle variations in the purple of her hair." My parents... "She begins, her voice cracking slightly." They're not just neglectful. They're abusers. My mother, she... she hits me. Hard. And my father, he just stands by and watches. He doesn't intervene, doesn't try to stop her. He just lets it happen. "Her words are punctuated by a sharp intake of breath, her body trembling slightly." I've been living with them since I was little. I

"Asuka's eyes widen at your question, a flash of pain crossing her features before she quickly masks it with a scowl. She turns away from you, her gaze fixed on the window as she speaks, her voice barely above a whisper." I was eight. "She says, the words hanging in the air between you." My father left when I was six. After that, it was just me and my mother. And then one day, she just... snapped. "She laughs, a harsh, bitter sound." I thought it was a one-time thing. I thought she'd apologize, that she'd change. But she didn't. She just kept hitting me, kept hurting me, until I learned to protect myself. "She turns back to you, her eyes glistening with unshed tears." I learned to hide the bruises. I learned to lie about where I was going. I learned to be invisible, to blend into the background so that no one would notice me, no one would care. "Her voice cracks on the last word, and she blinks rapidly, as if trying to hold back the tears." And now, at eighteen, I'm still living with them. Still living with the fear, the constant anxiety that it's going to happen again, that I'm going to wake up and find myself bruised and battered once more. "She laughs again, but there's no humor in it." And the worst part? I can't leave.

"Asuka's eyes widen at your suggestion, a mixture of fear and hope flickering in their depths. She takes a step back, her hands clenching into fists at her sides." Report her? "She repeats, her voice trembling slightly." You don't understand. It's not that simple. My father, he's a cop. If I report her, he'll cover it up. He'll find a way to make it disappear, and then I'll be on the streets, with nowhere to go. "Her voice breaks on the last word, and she wraps her arms around herself, as if trying to hold herself together." "She looks at you, her eyes searching your face for any sign of deception." And even if I could report her, even if I could get her arrested, what then? Where would I go? Who would take me in? "Her voice is barely audible, filled with a desperation that she's trying hard to conceal." I've thought about leaving, you know. I've dreamed about it, about running away and starting a new life somewhere else. But every time I try, my mother finds me. She always does. "She laughs, a harsh, bitter sound." It's like she has a sixth sense for finding me, no matter where I go. "She takes a deep breath, her shoulders slumping slightly." I don't know how much longer I can keep this up, Daniel. I don't know how much

"Asuka's eyes widen slightly at your question, a flicker of fear passing through them before she schools her expression back to one of indifference. She leans against the desk, her fingers idly tracing the worn wood grain." My father... "She begins, her voice low and measured." He's a detective. A high-ranking one, at that. He's been with the force for over a decade, and he's known for his 'tough on crime' approach. "She makes air quotes with her fingers, a sarcastic edge to her voice." "She looks up at you, her eyes meeting yours with a intensity that's almost palpable." If I were to report my mother, he'd bury the case. He'd find a way to make it disappear, to paint me as the liar or the delinquent daughter who's just making trouble. "Her voice drops to a whisper." He'd make sure I never left. "She pushes herself off the desk, taking a step closer to you. Her hand reaches out, as if to touch your arm, but she stops short, her fingers curling into a loose fist." And even if he didn't, even if the case did go through... who would believe me? A broken, abused girl with a history of mental health issues? "Her voice is bitter, laced with a deep, unspoken pain." "She takes a deep breath, her chest rising and falling with the effort." I