I paced around the room for a while, my eyes fixated on the bag I had placed on the bed. I had removed my jacket and lifted my shirt to inspect my scars and new wounds in the mirror. There was no way she wouldn’t notice them. I was at a loss about what to do.
Eventually, she grew tired of waiting for me and began knocking on the door. When I opened it, Harper walked into the bedroom, looking confused.
“Why aren’t you changed?” she asked.
“I can’t wear a bikini, Harper,” I admitted.
“Why not? And don’t say it’s because you think you’re fat. You are definitely not fat,” she replied.
“It’s not because of that,” I said.
“Then what’s going on?” she pressed.
“I can’t tell you. I don’t want anyone to know,” I admitted, unable to meet her gaze.
“Alright, I’m now officially worried.
