Game on.

By the time I got to the high street of the commercial district, the sun had already made its appearance, and business owners and employees had already shown up to prepare for the day.

Of course, none stopped to pay me any mind. In a big city like this, homeless and destitute are a dime a dozen. If not for my inability to walk properly, and the scars and bruises covering my arms, I likely wouldn’t have stood out at all.

Walking was becoming more difficult with every step. Not only did my whole body hurt, my stomach was empty and I was almost devoid of energy. It was like Rachel hadn’t eaten anything at all.

I stopped next to a shop with tinted windows and saw my reflection for the first time that day. The bags under my eyes were deep, and my complexion was pale, so much so that you’d think I had been an addict or alcoholic for years. The scars and bruises made me look like I had barely survived an attack from a wild animal.

Just two days in the driver's seat and Rachel had done this much to my body. At this point, I was no longer just irritated or angry. I could feel myself actively hating her more and more with every passing second.

Who the hell did she think she was? Did she think I wanted this? To be locked in a stranger’s body and ripped away from my own life? Was this spoiled wretched brat so incapable of empathy that she couldn’t see that this affected me just as much as it affected her?

No, judging by how she treated the people in her life, she probably really was that narcissistic. She’d hurt anyone and everyone if she felt slighted.

Filthy fucking rat. I hated her. I hated her so much it was hard to express.

If the word ‘hate’ were written on every cell in my body, it wouldn’t amount to one one-millionth the hate I felt for her in that moment.

You wanna destroy me? Break my body and ruin my life?

Game on, bitch.