Page 11 of Shamed
I scramble to stand and almost trip over my own feet trying to make a dash to the shower.
Burning heat sprays my skin, but still, I try turning it hotter. When the handle refuses to go any further, I reach for my loofah, pouring shower gel all over it. I scrub at my skin, ignoring any stinging, but the feeling still doesn’t go away.
I push the loofah deeper, scrubbing harder as a sob rips through my chest.
Scrub, scrub, scrub.
My skin screams at me to stop—raw, red, and burning—but my mind, just as raw, urges me on.
Clean.I need to get clean.
I scrub between my legs, ignoring the ache while my eyes blur with more tears.
I scrub until my whole body is singing in pain, drowning out the hurt inflicted byhim.
I scrub until I collapse to the shower floor, surrounded by bubbles, my tears flowing to match the stream of cooling water hitting me.
Then, dropping the loofah, I curl into myself and cry.
CHAPTER THREE
Jennifer
Ipeel my eyes open to the sun bathing my bedroom in cheery light. I should have gotten up and closed the damn curtains hours ago, but I haven’t been able to force myself to get out of bed.
I’ve been lying here for some time, dozing on and off after very little sleep lastnight.
My reality feels fractured, everything coated with a murky haze.
I had spent an hour in the shower, only getting out because my teeth were chattering so hard from the cold water spraying my ruined body on the shower floor.
As soon as I had dried my tender skin, I dressed and got into bed. My mom had come into my room a short time after, but I pretended to be asleep until she left, not wanting to hear what she had to say. It would have been something like,“Don’t worry about this; your father and I will take care of everything.”
Take care of everything butme, that is. A common theme in my life.
Real sleep was harder to come by, unfortunately, and any time I did manage to drift off, it was fitful and laced with nightmares about what happened.
Imagination woven with memories.
My full bladder finally forces me out of my warm haven. On silent feet, I make the trip out of my room and down the hall, not wanting to run into anyone who might be home.
My body feels achy as I walk, used in ways it’s not familiar with.
The lights in the bathroom feel like they’re shining a spotlight on me when I turn them on, so I flick them off again, leaving the room in muted sunshine from the skylight.
I can’t look at myself in the mirror. I don’t want to look at the damage done, the damaged body I’m left with. I don’t want the visual reminder.
Unfortunately, the burning sensation while I pee is something I can’t escape from, and my chest caves a little while more tears spring to my eyes.
Breathe.Breathe.
One breath at a time.
I wash my hands with my eyes lowered, then quickly get out of there.
On the way back from the bathroom, my dad’s raised voice can be heard through his closed office door. I didn’t realize he was in there when I walked past it earlier.
Thank goodness I was quiet, and he didn’t hear me.
