Look in to her eyes. Most people simply see a pretty girl with fat lines of black eyeliner drawn around her huge hazel eyes. I see the pain behind those eyes; they are the shattered windows to a broken soul. I see the tears that these eyes have cried, the endless pain she has known throughout her life. When I look in to her eyes, I understand her pain. I know about the slow-fading scars on her wrists and the reason for her bruises. Her mouth says "These tears aren't for him; that monster can't make me cry" but her eyes are bloodshot from hours of crying. He hurts her, but no one else even guesses. The bruises are from chasing the kids she baby-sits, the scars from an especially vicious house cat. No one would hurt a perfect little girl like her, especially someone with a job like her father’s; she wouldn’t dare give in to the comfort of the blade. She tries to run, to hide from the pain, but the monster chases after her for so far that she can't run any longer. She lies to the officer "Everything is ok here, sir". If only it were. Sometimes I wish I couldn't see her pain, that I hated her so much that I truly didn't care that she was dying inside.