14. Violet
14
Violet
T he lock clicked. I heard it echo in the bathroom. Felt the snap beneath my fingers, but I still grasped the handle. I yanked hard, making sure it couldn’t be opened.
My chest tightened as I stared at the wood door. You’d think I wouldn’t want to be locked in a room again, but I was feeling nervous about the figure I’d seen lurking. At least in here he couldn’t get to me.
I peeled off my borrowed clothes, dropping them on the floor. My hand shook as I twisted the knob to turn on the shower. The sound of the water beating down on the tiles seemed unusually loud to me.
I tried to steady myself by taking in the space. It was a typical bathroom with a small counter that had a sink and a mirror above. A standard shower tub combo. All nice finishes, but nothing ostentatious.
I remembered the gold-plated fixtures in Simon’s bathroom. My throat closed as if I could still feel the icy cold bath he’d submerged me in once a week. It never seemed to be enough water to get me clean. Or maybe it was his eyes watching as I tried to wash away the signs of him.
I forced the memories from my mind as I stepped into the tub. My legs wobbled. A hiss escaped my lips as the warm water hit my skin. It had been so long since I’d showered. I’d forgotten I could. It was just another ordinary thing that had been taken from me.
My hand shook as I grabbed the small bottle of shampoo. I worked it into a lather and washed my hair. My scalp ached in places where my ponytail had been yanked. I skipped the tender spots as I rinsed it.
Soon I settled back into the age old routine. Conditioner. Shaving my legs. Cleaning my face.
The soap was slippery in my hand as I ran it along my skin. I waited for the calm to come over me. To get lost in the familiar. But it never came.
My body looked the same as the soap disappeared. I watched it swirl down the drain. It was pure and spotless. That was wrong. It should be black. It should’ve taken away this dirty feeling.
My hands moved, rubbing the bar along my body again. It still washed clean. Bright white.
No.
I grabbed a washcloth. I needed to wipe harder. Needed to get clean.
It became a blur as I scrubbed at my skin. My flesh turned pink, but it wasn’t enough. I could feel him.
His greasy fingers gripping my hips. His rancid breath in my ear. His weight pressed down on me. Pinning me beneath him. Trapping me.
My lungs squeezed. I couldn’t breathe. I tasted bile on my tongue. Burning my throat. I needed to get rid of him.
I jerked the shower knob, turning the temperature to warm. But not even the scorching heat could get rid of this feeling. This itchiness under my skin. It was like a disease. An infection. It was spreading, eating me alive.
I had to stop it. Maybe I could burn it off.
My grip slipped on the knob as I made the water hotter. Each searing drop pierced my skin. But it still wasn’t enough.
I didn’t want to feel this way. Didn’t want to be this. Broken. Tainted.
The idea of living like this forever stole the breath from my chest. The mist burned my lungs. I wanted to be myself again. I wanted the agony to go away.
A sob burst through my throat as I scoured at my body. I pressed harder. Tore at myself until the pain disappeared. Until there was nothing left.