A vibration next to my face startles me. I tear back the covers and reach under my pillow for my phone. Clicking open ‘one new message’, I read one from my best friend Kayla: ‘Gorgeous day 2day, come by the pool @ 11am, all the girls’ r gonna be there!!’ Ignoring the message, I have a shower, wincing as I touch the bruises all over my arms and face. I wrap myself in a towel and sit opposite my mirror. Examining my face, I caress my cheek, flinching as I feel a deep, purple coloured bruise. I reach for my makeup box, taking out various concealers, blushers and foundations. I have become somewhat of an expect when it comes to covering up bruises, so I apply several coats of everything to make them look less visible. It’s no use. If you look close enough you can still notice them. Everyone will be in their bikinis, showing a great deal of skin. I can’t handle that. I just can’t have them all stare at me, pity me, ask me who’s been beating me up. There’s no way I can say ‘it’s my Dad.’ I can just imagine the silence and the awkward few bursts of laughter. They’d think I was kidding. No. I can’t go through that. I could say I’m on my period. No, that was my excuse last week. I could say we’re having a barbeque. That wouldn’t work because we always invite my friends. My dad is such a socialable, friendly person during the day. He’s the life of the party and everyone adores him but after he’s been drinking, well that’s another story. I gaze at my phone for a few moments, my thumbs hovering over the keypad. I type ‘I’m feeling sick.’ Again. ‘You guys have fun though.’ And then I climb back into bed, fluff my pillows and curl up inside my duvet. Safe.