She had cleansed her body a third time that day and yet she could not rid it of the filth; it was though it would be permanently engraved in her skin. She could still smell the potency of alcohol in his breath, even after drenching herself in soapy water, she swore she could still smell it. It made her sick.
Vivid images disguised as flashbacks tortured her as she reluctantly recalled how persistent he was. How aggressive he became and how she tried to push him back, to calm him down – yet he was adamant on getting what he felt was owed to him.
He made him realise her weakness as opposed to his strength, like a savage. “But I led him on – it’s my fault for seducing him”, her spirit cries out. How could he? Him, of all people? Why would he do that to her? Tears induced by fear and hatred fall like streams from her eyes as she tries to silence the memory; the meaningless words he said to her in a sadistic whisper. Words that affirmed the fact that he forcefully and unapologetically ravaged what was sacred to her. He violated her in the worst way, deeming her worthless as soon as she plucked up the courage to literally dust herself off and walk away. The dirt on her hands signifying how she felt ’bout her once graceful self.
She, now a piece of trash, could not bear to look at the monster who had now reduced her to a nothingness. Yet contempt consumed her quietly. It took the last ounce of pride she had left to not break down in front of him. . .this evil incarnate, who seemed partially satisfied with himself for what he had achieved.
As time proceeds to pass, she no longer stares at the mirror, she can only steal glimpses of herself. She hates what he has reduced her to, disgusted with herself for allowing it to happen. The look on his face that day still leaves her mortified – how could the one she felt such passion and intense adoration for be so cruel? Why couldn’t it have been another instead?