Fortuitous
Aftermath
I always took a shower afterwards.
It seemed like the only way I could forget what had just happened.
The water was most likely my own symbolism.
It washed away my pain.
It transformed me into a new body.
A new body born with gorgeous blue bruises.
No matter how hard I scrubbed my aching stomach,
no matter how many times I put more soap on the sponge,
no matter how long I sat there and let the water hit my back,
no matter how many tears I shed in the shower,
no matter how many times I repeated he wouldn't do it again,
it never seemed to make it go away.
My brown skin glowed red around the black spots on my arms.
It was outstanding how my parents hadn't figured it out.
Perhaps my hair covered my face too much.
Or how I always wore long sleeves.
Or how I was barely at my own home that much in the first place.
I was barely 15 years old.
How could they let their own daughter slip away?
I must have been in the shower for at least over forty minutes.
The sound of him looking for me reached my ears.
That was my cue to hurry up and get out before he got angry.
I sniffed once as I turned off the hot water.
I squeezed the water out of my hair and wiped my face.
The tile floor was cold against my pink feet.
I suggested that they should get a rug for the bathroom, to soak up the water.
They ignored me.
I quickly wiped down the water from my arms and legs.
I patted down my hair and wrapped the towel around me.
It took only one step outside the bathroom before the cold air reached me.
A shiver went down my spine.
"Where have you been?"
I closed my eyes.
I turned around.
"The shower, sweetie."
A false smile.
"Didn't I tell you to wait for me?"
A step forward.
"You took a while. I decided to get clean before you came back."
A step back.
"You didn't listen to me. I told you to wait."
Two steps forward.
"I'm sorry, baby."
A step back. Up against the wall now.
"You will be."
It always was the same with him.
I said I was sorry.
He told me I would be.
Then he'd apologize later.
Then he'd say he loved me.
Then I'd say it back.
Then I would take a shower.
Repeat.
It seems like he's been beating me for every second of my life now.
It's been so long that I barely feel it anymore.
All it takes is the show of eyelids and a dream world where we are both happy.
Sometimes I feel the nudge of his fist at my stomach.
Sometimes I feel the pinch of his palm at my face.
Sometimes I feel the tug of my hair being pulled.
Every time he does this, it feels like I'm watching over the scene.
I see him pulling me down by my hair.
I see him slap me to the floor.
I see him kick me in the stomach.
I see him kneel down to punch me in the head.
I see his father downstairs, reading the paper, look up at the ceiling.
I see his father sigh and read some more.
I see my parents, oblivious, sitting down for dinner at home.
I see the friends I was never able to have laugh at the mall.
I see him realize what he was doing.
I see him kneel down and put my head in his lap.
I see him cradle me lightly.
I see him mouth the lie of apology and love.
I see myself come back.
"I know, baby, I know. It's okay."
He nodded once before he walked out of the room.
I shakily stood up; my stomach sore and my head pounding.
I close my eyes to feel the aftermath of the damage.
My bottom lip trembles as I hold back my tears.
I took another shower.
It seemed like the only way I could forget what had just happened.
The water was most likely my own symbolism.
It washed away my pain.
It transformed me into a new body.
A new body born with gorgeous blue bruises.
No matter how hard I scrubbed my aching stomach,
no matter how many times I put more soap on the sponge,
no matter how long I sat there and let the water hit my back,
no matter how many tears I shed in the shower,
no matter how many times I repeated he wouldn't do it again,
it never seemed to make it go away.
My brown skin glowed red around the black spots on my arms.
It was outstanding how my parents hadn't figured it out.
Perhaps my hair covered my face too much.
Or how I always wore long sleeves.
Or how I was barely at my own home that much in the first place.
I was barely 15 years old.
How could they let their own daughter slip away?
I must have been in the shower for at least over forty minutes.
The sound of him looking for me reached my ears.
That was my cue to hurry up and get out before he got angry.
I sniffed once as I turned off the hot water.
I squeezed the water out of my hair and wiped my face.
The tile floor was cold against my pink feet.
I suggested that they should get a rug for the bathroom, to soak up the water.
They ignored me.
I quickly wiped down the water from my arms and legs.
I patted down my hair and wrapped the towel around me.
It took only one step outside the bathroom before the cold air reached me.
A shiver went down my spine.
"Where have you been?"
I closed my eyes.
I turned around.
"The shower, sweetie."
A false smile.
"Didn't I tell you to wait for me?"
A step forward.
"You took a while. I decided to get clean before you came back."
A step back.
"You didn't listen to me. I told you to wait."
Two steps forward.
"I'm sorry, baby."
A step back. Up against the wall now.
"You will be."
It always was the same with him.
I said I was sorry.
He told me I would be.
Then he'd apologize later.
Then he'd say he loved me.
Then I'd say it back.
Then I would take a shower.
Repeat.
It seems like he's been beating me for every second of my life now.
It's been so long that I barely feel it anymore.
All it takes is the show of eyelids and a dream world where we are both happy.
Sometimes I feel the nudge of his fist at my stomach.
Sometimes I feel the pinch of his palm at my face.
Sometimes I feel the tug of my hair being pulled.
Every time he does this, it feels like I'm watching over the scene.
I see him pulling me down by my hair.
I see him slap me to the floor.
I see him kick me in the stomach.
I see him kneel down to punch me in the head.
I see his father downstairs, reading the paper, look up at the ceiling.
I see his father sigh and read some more.
I see my parents, oblivious, sitting down for dinner at home.
I see the friends I was never able to have laugh at the mall.
I see him realize what he was doing.
I see him kneel down and put my head in his lap.
I see him cradle me lightly.
I see him mouth the lie of apology and love.
I see myself come back.
"I know, baby, I know. It's okay."
He nodded once before he walked out of the room.
I shakily stood up; my stomach sore and my head pounding.
I close my eyes to feel the aftermath of the damage.
My bottom lip trembles as I hold back my tears.
I took another shower.