Scene 1:
"Can I have a drink with you?" He was sitting at the bar counter of one of the high-profile nightclubs when he heard a voice. He turned his face and eyed the woman standing there from head to toe. Gulping the remaining drink in one go, he put the glass on the counter with a thud. "No," he spat and left.
Scene 2:
A meeting was underway. Her focus was entirely on the presentation when she felt a hand on her thigh. She jerked up and slapped the person who dared to touch her, taking advantage of the dim lights in the presentation hall. "You bitch," the person said as everyone else stood up. The lights were turned on, but she cared less and slapped him hard again.
"Get the hell out of my office, all of you," she roared in anger.
"You will pay for this," another person said.
Scene 3:
"Ma'am, please, you've had enough," her P.A. pleaded, but she kept drinking.
"You go, I'm fine," she said in a tone that made her P.A. fall silent. Knowing she couldn't say anything more, the P.A. left.
Exhausted from drinking, she got up from the bar counter and, with uneven steps due to her drunken state, came out and walked towards her car. She tried to open the door, but a hand came, and everything went blank.
Scene 4:
"You rascal," she screamed, trying to free her hands, but it was in vain as they were tied with handcuffs. The man, busy filling a syringe, chuckled at her outburst and approached her while checking the injection.
"Princess, abusive words don't suit you," he said, caressing her face. She turned her face away to escape his touch.
"I'm not your princess, you scoundrel! Leave me," she shouted again, but he made a fake sad pout and gripped her arm tightly.
"No, leave me," she tried to thrash around and shouted, but he stuffed a cloth in her mouth and injected her. "No," she screamed in a muffled tone. A tear of pain escaped from her eyes.
" I scrub and scrub trying to make it go away. I'd happily go back to walking around internally dead than whatever this is. Watching the crimson substance go down the drain and off my skin- out of sight, out of mind, except it's not going away. I hated that pain was temporary but this... this pain I don't want it. I don't want to feel this.
Tears begin to well in my eyes making my vision blurry.
Weak.
Anger surges in my veins and impulsively my fist connects with a tile on the wall of the shower shattering it.
This is emotional. I don't do that. I don't do this- I don't cry in the shower. I don't let my emotions dictate my actions I haven't in a long time. It's stupid. It's childish. It's weak.
I glance down at my knuckles on my right hand, watching the tiny cuts heal. Shouting, I punch the tile over and over and over again until blood runs down my arm and drips onto the shower floor. I reach my severely broken hand out under the water, momentarily stinging as water hits the open wounds which unfortunately close over seconds later. I crack whatever bones need it, back into place and look around me.
The back wall of the shower is destroyed, shards of tile and blood scattered on the floor. As I stand under the scalding hot stream staring into nothing my mind falls silent for a split second. A few seconds of solace until everything comes crashing back. The tightness in my chest and my stomach, the cloudiness in my brain, the anger, the sadness. It all comes back. I sit down away from the shattered pieces of tile, curling my legs up and letting the near boiling water hit my back.
There was a feeling of relief in losing everything I was. Whatever it is that has clawed it's way to the surface, I want it gone. I want that relief back. "