Against the Universe

16 • grover

Mock exams are over, and I'm out of college. We technically still have a week left before Christmas break, but I'm too psychologically drained to attend classes. Plus I've been having episodes of moderate phantom pain since Sunday, so I've been spending the day in a morphine-induced coma.

I wake up in the late afternoon after having another morbidly vivid dream about my teeth falling out. When I check myself in my phone screen, they're all still there: misaligned and mildly attrited from bruxism. I've tried researching the meaning of the dream, but the interpretations are endless.

I also get a voicemail from John with an offer to set me up with a therapist in the New Year. Dr Halimah Burman has availability. He speaks very highly of her. I tell Siri to remind me to get back to him tomorrow.

The last time we met, he rambled on about relationships and self-esteem again. Apparently, making self-deprecating jokes about my deformity is not a healthy long-term coping mechanism. I would normally have ignored a comment like this, but then he pointed out that I was insulting him too, albeit unintentionally, and I felt like the biggest asshole after that.

It's what I'm thinking about now as I step out of the shower. I wipe away the condensation from the mirror, revealing my body from the abdomen upwards.

I tend to avoid looking at myself. At it.

The exercises help. I'm by no means jacked, more just ... healthy-looking. Defined. Maybe I'd even pass as attractive if there wasn't literally a part of me missing.

I stretch my arms out in front of me, taking in the asymmetry. The left ends below the elbow, rounding off into a smooth stump. The skin is reddish and tender, a sign of poor care.

A sense of revulsion bubbles in the back of my throat. I wonder how long it will take until I'm truly comfortable with people seeing me like this. Or if I'll ever be comfortable with people seeing me like this. Right now, the idea of baring myself to someone in an act of intimacy makes me feel physically ill.

The vanity starts to fog up again, my reflection fading away behind the mist.

☽ ☽ ☽

Our family doesn't do Christmas. Auntie Jayshree — Mum's older sister — passed a few days before the holiday, years before I was born. I guess it's still too painful for her to celebrate.

I don't feel like we're missing out on anything. The appeal of this season is lost on me. Fuck what Andy Williams says — there's nothing 'wonderful' about the freezing temperatures or the torturous jingles being played on a loop in every shop. As if the stress of last minute gift buying isn't enough to drive everyone else insane.

While I'm prepping the ingredients to make a protein shake, I hear the front door slam. Mum enters the dining room, looking weary and irate. Ben follows with a face like thunder.

"IT WASN'T MY FAULT."

Mum doesn't say anything, she just stands there and massages her temples. I watch the whole scene unfold from the kitchen, my finger hovering over the start button on the blender.

My hand drops back by my side. "What happened?"

"The school called me to pick him up." Her words come out in a heavy sigh. "He pushed one of his classmates into a bookshelf. Some boy called Abdul."

I look at Ben. "What happened? Did he hog all the good crayons?"

Ben fixes me with a hateful glare, and the little shit puts his middle finger up at me. I'm the one who taught him it, but it still makes me see red.

I look at mum, outraged, but her hands are still covering her face. Of course, she only sees when I do it back. Ben storms upstairs and slams his door.