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... the mirror, dressed in one of Reagan’s shirt but the buttons were loosed. Angry looking scars were all over my body, some on my chest, my abdomen and my breast. The more I stared at the mirror, the more those images from what had happened in the pit slammed inside my mind. Images of me crying as they held me down, the knives digging into my skin, the whip, the screams. It was all too much, it was all too much.

All of a sudden, I wasn’t standing in the bathroom anymore. I was back in the ...

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