Trapped by Seven Mafia Wolves novel Chapter 83

**Title: Stars Refuse To Blink by Asa River Knox**

**Aurora’s POV**

Perched on the unforgiving cold bench, I feel a wave of discomfort wash over me, a sensation that I never imagined I could endure. Each breath is a sharp reminder of my pain, a jolt that travels through my ribs like a cruel whisper. The relentless throb in my leg serves as an unwelcome reminder of Savina and her crew, who had shown no mercy. I hadn’t even seen it coming; it was as if they had been waiting, lurking in the shadows until the tryouts ended. And then, chaos erupted. It felt surreal, like a nightmare from which I couldn’t awaken.

With a heavy heart and trembling limbs, I slowly begin to push myself upright. My hands clutch my side, shaking uncontrollably, and every slight movement sends fresh waves of agony rippling through me. My legs feel as if they might give way at any moment, but I refuse to remain here, not in this state, not in front of everyone who could witness my humiliation.

“Come on, Aurora,” I murmur to myself, my voice barely more than a whisper, a fragile breath escaping my lips. “You can do this. Just… just walk.”

As I take my first steps, they feel unsteady and burdensome, each one dragging me down further. I grip my belongings tighter—my backpack, my jacket, those small comforts that I can still cling to as I navigate this hellish hallway. It stretches out before me, a long, cold tunnel that seems to mock my struggle. The lockers blur past, a dizzying array of colors and shapes, and I can feel the world spinning around me.

I bite down on my lip, hard enough that the pain distracts me momentarily from the turmoil within. “You’re fine. You’re okay,” I tell myself, a mantra I cling to desperately.

But deep down, I know the truth—I’m not okay.

Finally, I reach the bathroom door and push inside, barely managing to keep myself upright the moment I cross the threshold. My hands scramble for the sink, the cold surface grounding me as I lean heavily against it, gasping for stability.

When I look up, the mirror reflects a truth I cannot escape.

Blood streaks across my cheek and trickles down my neck, mingling with the tears I had fought so hard to hold back. Dark bruises bloom beneath my eyes, shadows that cling to me like unwanted memories. My hair is a chaotic mess, plastered to my forehead with a mixture of sweat and tears, each droplet a testament to my pain.

And then, it comes—a voice, sinister and mocking.

“Look at you. Pathetic. Disgusting. No one wants to see this.”

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