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Darcy looked at an image in her bathroom mirror that was quickly changing from the image she had become accustomed to seeing.  In just two weeks, her muscle-filled arms had begun to soften.  Noticing the change, she placed her fingertips on some skin that had begun to fall slack at her elbow.  Above her fingertips were bruises that now mysteriously covered her left bicep.

Turning her body in the mirror, Darcy saw a large, blue, fist-sized bruise at the base of her right hip.  Continuing her turn, she looked to where pain still emanated from her right shoulder blade.  The fist-sized abrasion next to the long scratch left by her bra strap tearing into her skin had begun to fade.

Finishing her turn, she saw her body was thinner.  A result of the nausea that still came and went.  The doctor had told her it was caused by shock.

Her mind involuntarily flashed back to the memories that haunted her.  There were only two.  The first was an image in her rearview mirror that caused her to think, “Fast.  Why is he going so fast?”  The second memory was “rollercoaster.”  That was the thought she had as she sat watching her head bounce off the headrest and be thrown forward.  The force was ten times that of the steepest rollercoaster drop.  The power of the impact had caused the band to fly from her hair, allowing the brown strands to unravel into a wild cloud around her head. Momentarily, she had been able to see 360 degrees around her; and, behind her, a cloud of shattered glass from the hatchback window had hung suspended in the air as her seat-belted body flew forward.  That second memory only lasted an instant before she was snapped back into her body.

Looking at herself in the mirror, Darcy lifted a hand to her lower jaw.  She remembered the pain she felt as she was miraculously able to sit up after the impact.  She didn’t have a memory of what had happened to cause the jaw and gum pain but guessed that her lower teeth had hit the steering wheel.  She leaned forward and peeled back her lower lip, exposing the survivors.  By some kind of miracle, her teeth were all there and functioning.

Pulling back from the bathroom mirror, she crossed her arms and thought.  The aching shoulders, neck, and back seemed to grow a little bit less every day, as did the headache, but what was left?  What was the enduring damage that you couldn’t see?

Darcy pulled her robe back over her shoulders, tied it in front, and walked to a window.  Gazing at a scene that she didn’t really see, her mind wandered.  What had been taken from her?  Her confidence and her freedom had been taken from her.  She didn’t want to drive in the dark.  She didn’t want to drive during rush hour.  She didn’t want to return to the scene.  She didn’t ever want to see a large, white pickup truck again.  She now wanted no one around her on the road.  She now had the hypervigilance of a rabbit. 

Staying home suddenly seemed so much more appealing than it had in the past, but that wasn’t an option.  None of these fears were something she could indulge in because, if she did, then he’d win.  The white pickup truck would win.  She hadn’t died the day the white truck had hit her vehicle; but, if she let her fear win, she might as well have died because she wouldn’t be living anymore.

Hopefully, the aches and bruises on the outside would heal, but what about the bruises on the inside?  That’s what was left.