She tried to blink, her face still smarting from the blow. Her eyes watered and the warm tears cooled the heat of her cheek.
Sara ran her fingers across her face and felt the raised markings of harsh fingertips burning into her. She flinched at the touch and closed her eyes once more. It had been a long night.
Marti stood in the far corner of the room, his left arm raised above his head, palm flat to the wall. His head was bowed to the floor and shrouded in smoke.
Every few seconds he took a drag from his cigarette and slowly let the smoke leak out of the sharp corners of his mouth. The room was deadly silent, save for the eerie sound of cigarette smoke.
Sara dared not cry. She dared not breathe.