Suddenly it dawns on me. Something is different, I am different. I’m not in pain, my body is healed. Hopefully nobody notices as I take in my own body, trying to feel any discomfort, any bruise or wound on my body. But there is nothing. I turn over my hands and glance down at them. Somehow I almost got used to seeing them bloody, full of fresh and old bruises. Everytime I would get tortured, I would bite my own arm to keep myself from screaming, but the only thing it did was drawing blood and leaving marks in the shape of my teeth behind. When I couldn’t keep the screams inside of me, I would trash my arms to the table, scrape my nails in the wood until they bled and then the shaking would start. It would take hours or days for it to stop. I would fall on my knees, bruising them and eventually after I kicked and screamed until I was bleeding in my body, they would send me back to the cage. 