The Touch

She awoke to the sound of the alarm; the same sound she had used for the last three years, ever since she moved in to her own place. A sigh. It is always hard for her to get up and out of bed, but she always does. Work was in an hour and she dreaded it, who didn’t?

The water ran hot on her skin and she scrubbed every part thrice to get the residue of their touch off. A routine. A chore. A necessity. If she missed this ritual, her chest would be tighter than it normally was and she would forget to breathe. Clothes for the day were meticulously planned the night before and spread out on the chair. A button up. A pair of trousers. Nothing too much but always modest.

Breakfast would be on her mind by that time. She skipped dinner last night. Even lunch for that matter. She had had a bar of chocolate in the break room yesterday but threw up right after because it brought back memories. It was self-induced. She was tired. Always. Her soul was tired. She did not like mirrors because those three men had found her pretty. The thought of her face now scared her. They had said to her, “Oh! You’re so pretty!” right before they slid their hand under her skirt at the age of four. Then again a few years later and then again. So she always had to shower and scrub those places three times over.

She went out the door and locked it. Then unlocked it and locked it again. A habit she could not shake off. She looked over her shoulder to see if the hands had followed but they were at a distance, peering through the corner of the lobby. At a distance but still there. She walked right out of there, something she wished she had done earlier but she had frozen in place.

The coworker asked, “Would you be joining us for Trivia Night tonight?” A soft “No”, and a polite smile was all she gave. She yearned for her apartment, her bed, her hideaway.

She lit a cigarette on her balcony. The drags felt empty and dry; but she smoked anyway. A deadly ‘hobby’ for her. ‘I should take up on her offer and do ecstasy ' she thought but brushed it off as it would require her to go out with that person and her friends. She was not about to do that after last time when one of the boys came onto her. The breeze felt nice but the thought of the touch sent shivers down her spine.

Dinner was a cup of instant noodles. Something she had every other day, whenever she had dinner. She rang up her mom but only spoke in “hmms” and “okays”. She hopped into the shower again and did her ritual, only difference being at night tears would also warm her face. The demons felt nearer and the hands would grip her tighter; and all she could do was sob for an hour.

Nightly routine done and she crept into bed with a pill in her hands that made falling asleep easier. And every night she would think she would have a dozen or two more than that but the face of her mother would always stop her there and slowly she would drift off to sleep to relive the same day again. And again. And again.