photo by e m
We weren't high anymore, and he still couldn't get what he wanted from me. I pretended to sleep so he would go away. He rolled away from me, swearing and frustrated. It was only fun for a while. We slept on a sagging mattress on the floor. It was here when we moved in. There was a ripped leather loveseat in the ally that we dragged up the stairs. Things weren't like this when I met him. I had a family. They lived on the other side of the state and they hated me.
I wouldn't be working in the morning. I would call in crying and say that I was sick.
I was sick.
It was four in the morning. That didn't matter. The insides of my thighs were bruised and rubbed raw. We had a blanket made of fleece. I sewed around the edges with a haphazard stitch in stolen embroidery thread. Someday I would sew us some curtains.
I had to piss. The hallway was dark and the shower was running. I barely opened the bathroom door and saw him standing in the steam, one hand on the wall above the toilet, bracing himself as he hunched over the bowl. He wasn't wearing a thread of clothing. I pulled at the hem of my t-shirt, covering the bareness of my legs.
I pushed the door open wide. The single yellow bulb above the mirror was too much. He was an alien emerging out of the fog, back lit and inhuman. I stared, frozen and ashamed of myself.
His back was bent in a smooth curve; his arm stretched above his bowed head in a salute. His hand slipped in the condensation. He suddenly looked up to heaven. He stared at the water spot on the ceiling. Something like terror started deep in my belly and ran up my spine, making my teeth chatter. He knew I was watching him. What he was doing to me, it was something like shame.
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For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, Sir challenged me with "Hell is other people," and I challenged Kelly Garriott Waite with "I'm coming out of retirement".
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This post is also an entry at Trifecta Writing Challenge. It's something new I'm trying. The deal is that you have to write a piece using the third definition of a given word in 33 -333 words. You should give it a try, too and link up here. This week's word is shame.
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whoa.
ReplyDeleteyou made this piece come to life in my throat.
You captured her desperation and shame eloquently.
ReplyDeleteOh, yes. I always love these stories from you.
ReplyDeleteyikes. i kinda saw that guy in my own bathroom, right there.
ReplyDeleteI loved this piece. My favorite part: "I sewed around the edges with a haphazard stitch in stolen embroidery thread. Someday I would sew us some curtains." I can see this so clearly. Nicely done.
ReplyDeleteThis is fucking spectacular - raw and gritty, while at the same time absolutely genuine and real. This is a nightmarish piece, but at the same time stark and terribly relatable. I love it.
ReplyDeleteI love how you've done so much with so few words. You are so talented!
ReplyDeleteAH! The imagery! You're a master of your craft, ma'am. This piece makes my skin crawl.
ReplyDeleteThat's a remarkably poignant portrait of the definition of the word 'shame'. And in such a short piece. Amazing job.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much for contributing to this week's Trifecta Writing Challenge. I really enjoyed your piece. I found it raw and moving--filled with emotion and energy. I hope you'll come back to join us again next week.
ReplyDeleteThis was really dark and really well written. You did an excellent job a conveying what she was going through.
ReplyDeleteThat last paragraph really summoned the desperate icy burn of shame. Beautifully done.
ReplyDeleteThank you so much for your comments, everybody!
ReplyDelete