Love Me to the End

|15 - In This Moment|

|TRIGGER WARNING: CONTAINS IMAGERY OF SEXUAL ASSUALT, BODY IMAGE, PTSD, AND EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT.| 

Today. Today. Today.

Every bone in my body hummed as I thought of what I had agreed to last night. Even a visit to the library had done nothing to calm my nerves, and the weight of the books in my bag was so much heavier than normal.

Calm your nerves, Aesha, good lord.

But I didn't think that was possible. Ever since Halloween night, the memories of Ash's skin against mine was burned into my memory like a tattoo, and with the knowledge that I had willingly signed up to feel that rush of blood again today...I didn't know what to expect, or why I wanted it to happen again.

The walk back to the dorm was nothing short of nerve-rattling. Still, I take a deep breath and open the door, hastily taking the key out and putting it back in my bag.

One peek around shows that Ash was not back and I remember the evening class she had. Sighing, I drop my stuff at the foot of my bed and close the curtains before heading to my nightstand.

Though she wasn't present yet, the biggest indicator that Ash was as nervous as I was happened to be that her side of the room was clean- suspiciously clean. The bed was made to perfection and her gray pillows fluffed with most likely a few good natured slaps. The nightstand was also cleared of her belongings except for the stray phone charger and lip balm.

Ash and clean room in the same sentence was not something that occurred too often, which gave me a semblance of peace; both of our nerves were on edge.

Turning back to my laundry, I quickly rummage through my undergarments in search of something matching and hopefully cute. I curse myself as nothing reaches my hand.

Aesha, babe, you gotta do the laundry more often.

After a few minutes, I found the lacy black bra and lace-lined undies to match. Both were embellished with pearls, much to my dismay when Cleo had made me buy it; like, c'mon, who would wear decorated underwear?

This bitch, apparently.

I dug again and pulled out a cropped cream sweater-top that slid off my shoulder and stopped a little above my belly button. Without wasting any more time I decided to just pair it with black yoga pants- yes, the pair that made my ass look like magic, thank you.

Happy with my decision, I headed over to the bathroom and peeled off my sweaty clothes and caught sight of my skin. I blanched at the imperfections that lay across it, and remorse against myself filled to the brim. Small scars, stretch marks, and strawberry skin across my legs were littered everywhere, and I ran my hands over them, wishing them all to disappear.

I hated them. Every single flaw I held, every mark and cut and blotchy skin; everything made me grimace. This isn't the first time I'd felt like this, and I knew I should've stopped, but as I tilted my thighs and caught sight of my inner knees and skin right below my intimate parts, tears spilled down my cheeks. Those scars would never leave.

As I looked at them, every memory of the man that had violated me came to my mind. The man I despised with every cell of my being. Years. It took years for me to be able to look myself in the eye without despair, and yet here I was again, spouting tears like it was the night after it happened.