Bruises.
The wave of nausea is back, and this time it’s deeper, and it’s threatening to drown me. I gag, hard, and saliva floods my mouth. Shaking my head, I fight to force it away, and focus on the darkness that shifts beneath my skin.
My head is swimming.
My mouth is watering.
I touch my inner thighs, gently, and hiss as a pain bites back at me.
No.
No, no.
This can’t be happening.
Not to me.
I was a good person.
Was?
No, no, Iam.
I did what God asked. I followed the bible and listened to the preaching of the pastor at church. I did what I was supposed to do. Things like this weren’t supposed to happen to women likeme. Things like this happened to blasphemous, unsaved women who were unclean.
I did everythingright.
Why did I deserve this?
I stumble out of the room, to the full-length mirror that hangs on the back of the closet door in the hallway. My reflection stares back at me, and she’s pale and she looks scared.
My nightgown is torn, a small rip at the collarbone. I touch it, the fabric rough against my fingers. My hands tremble as I lift them to my hair, tangled and wild. There’s something sticky in my hair, and when I pull my hand back, a faint smell lingers, familiar, musky.
Did I forget to wash the conditioner out of that spot?
Did I get… food in my hair?
I sniff my finger again, and a shiver of revulsion runs through me. I hug my arms around myself, nails digging into my skin until it hurts.
This can’t be real.
It can’t.
It’snotreal.
It’s not.
But it is,a voice chides inside my head.It’s real. Can’t you feel it?
My stomach churns, bile rising in my throat. I swallow it down, but it comes right back up. I lunge for the bathroom door, throwing it open and dropping to my knees in front of the toilet, my body heaving.
But nothing comes out.
Just dry heaves.
I clutch the fabric of my nightgown, fingers digging into the soft cotton as if grasping for a lifeline. The room spins, a whirlpool of shadows and faint light. Sobs rip from my throat, and they are so, so painful.
What happened?