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My eyes flick upward, “Huh? No. Um, it’s fine, I’m just not very hungry.”
“You don’t have to eat it.”
Pushing my chair out, I pick up my plate and stand, “Yeah, if it’s ok I’m just going to head to bed. He nods at me and follows me with his eyes as I walk to the trash can and dump the remains of my dinner before placing the plate and fork into the sink.
“You look like her, you know?”
“Excuse me?” I turn my head.
He sighs, “You look just like her. Dina.”
“Th-thanks,” I stutter.
Not for long, I think to myself as I head for the steps.
Making my way to my bathroom, I switch out my loose sweater for a ratty old t-shirt full of holes and paint splatters. Picking up the comb, I begin the process of haphazardly separating my hair into sections, clipping the sections as I go. Draping a stained towel over my shoulders, I clip the towel in front of my neck, and then slip my hands into a pair of latex gloves.
Giving the directions on the bottle a once over, I pick it up and squirt the vibrant, cherry red dye into a small plastic bowl, then give the dye a little stir with the wide, color application brush. Pausing, I glance at myself in the mirror one last time. Half-heartedly I smile at mom and she smiles right back.
Starting slowly, I grasp the chunks of hair between my fingers and paint the strands, saturating them until none of the blonde shows through anymore. Nothing but a rich, bright cherry hue coating my entire head. I peel the gloves from my hands and throw all the used supplies into the wastebasket before wrapping my head in saran wrap.
Picking up my iPod, I pop earbuds into both ears and turn on a playlist that I created for the couple of hours needed to let the dye set. Sliding to the floor of the bathroom, I close my eyes, and lean back against the bathroom wall. The music and lyrics filter through the earbuds and inject themselves into my veins. I feel the song, the bass, the rhythm and the melody. All of it dulling the absolute pain that’s spread through my chest like a slow-acting toxin. I sing out loud and let the tears fall, hitting the tile floor in tiny splashes.
I feel like all I do is cry anymore, and my god, I hate it.
His grunts wake me up for the fourth time this week, and this time I don’t even open my eyes. I don’t want to see it, I don’t want to know. But the sound is closer this time. I swear I can feel those very breaths.
Suddenly, I feel the blankets shift and slide, and my flesh is exposed to the cool air of the room. Goosebumps crawl across my skin, and I clench my eyes shut. Something warm, wet, and sticky hits my bare leg and it takes every bit of self control I have not to flinch. I bite back a cry and pray it’s not what I think it is.
My blankets are carefully draped back over me, and I’m left in shock and terror as I feel the air shift in the room again before the hinges of my door creak and he makes his exit.
I’m defiled.
My bed is defiled.
My space is defiled.
I am no longer safe and secure within the walls of my own home. I no longer feel safe anywhere. I’ve tried and failed miserably to get ahold of Travis too many times to count. Each time it’s nothing but voicemail.
Finally, I exhale and slide out from between my sheets. Stoically, I walk slowly to the bathroom and turn on the sink. When the water warms, I grab a wash cloth from the cabinet and soak it before sudsing soap across the soft cotton surface. Pushing myself up to sit on the countertop, I take a deep breath and scrub my leg. The spot grows red and angry, so I finally stop, but I still feel dirty. Disgusting. Violation still crawls across my skin and seeps into my pores.
Hopping down from the counter, I toss the rag into the wastebasket and head back to bed. Pulling the comforter back, I yank the sheet off, tossing it into the corner of the room, making mental note to just fucking burn it later because no amount of cleansing will make me want to touch it ever again.
I sit down on the edge of my bed and pick up my phone.
Me: I miss you.
Me: Don’t forget, tomorrow is the party at Hayden's lake house.
I stare down at the screen for what feels like forever, before I accept that he isn’t going to be texting me back. With a sigh, I swipe to my contacts and pull up a new message.
Me: Hey girl, think I can ride with you to the party tomorrow?
Lara: Sure, I gotta pick up Kyle and Janie too is that cool?
Me: Works for me.
Lara: See you at 7.
