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the world As she kneels on the floor clenching the pristine white porcelain around the edges, all she can hear is the water to her left dripping in a slow and torturous pattern. Each drip resonates through her head, pounding away at her brain. Drip. Drip. Drip. The hard tile floor underneath her should be unforgiving and cold, but her body has made it warm. The porcelain will always be cold, and the whiteness will always be blinding. She must close her eyes to block out the rays burning her retinas. She wishes that the light would turn off, but she cannot reach the light switch. And she cannot leave from her spot. Her stomach churns as she peeks open with one eye, and sees that the light remains. She can hear knocking on the door, but she does not answer. She moves her hands to hear ears, quietly repeating "go away, go away, go away." She moves her head to the left, and catches herself in the mirror. She looks ridiculous, perched there that way, hands over her ears, kneeling back onto someone else’s clothes. Her eyes are small, and red, and her hair is a mess. She tries to move her hair out of her face, but it just falls back out of place. Her eyes are rimmed with tears, but she cannot remember crying. The knocking at the door persists, and she moves her hands back to her ears. She leans back, slowly falling into a pile of dirty towels, and landing against the wall. "Are you ok?" is what she can hear through the spaces between her hands. "Open the door. Please, just open the door." |
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