That was my favorite.
I glance at the bed. Never been used and god, I was tired. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally. It looked as though all that all my problems would go away just by laying down. I couldn't though. His sweat was on my skin. His touch was all too fresh. His DNA was still inside me. Dripping. I couldn't tarnish such a sacred space with my dirty body. No matter how much I wanted to.
I sat there for a while. The sky was getting the darker. More boys were coming in almost like it was routine. I was marinated in filth. The sting on my cheek was gone replaced by a throbbing near my eye. A pain in my arm where the bruise had darkened stained my already dark skin. There was a knock at the door followed by a soft voice.
Kelly Rivera-O'Neil.
She stood on the other side. Same clothes but hands full. A suit case on her side. A bag in her hands filled with the unknown. She asks to come in. I step aside. She sees not much has changed since her departure and frowns a bit before setting the bag down atop the dresser. She wheels the suitcase near the bed and takes a seat. Plopping it down next to her. She unzips it. I watch on silently.
"So, it's not much just some things I couldn't fit anymore and--pathetically--things I couldn't part with quite yet," she chuckles, "I got some tops, more blouses than casual, some jeans that I really think would compliment your figure, and, ok, what size shoe are you?"
"E-eight."
"Perfect!"
She claps excitedly. Gesturing for me to come closer. She tells me to take what I like. All of it if I want. But if not the rest She'll give to Goodwill. I sift through the clothes not to be picky but to find the things that seemed to be more loose. She goes on and on about how the brighter colored blouses would pop against my skin tone. How certain pairs of jeans and the leggings would fit against me well.
That's the absolute last thing I want.
In the end, I picked a few t-shirts that were buried at the bottom of the suitcase much to Kelly's dismay. Three pairs a jeans that were surprisingly my size and two pairs of the shorts just to appease the eccentric women. She gave me two old pairs of her Nike sneakers that she says she hadn't really worn, and a pair of sandals she had never taken out the box. She gets up and grabs the bag from the dresser that was filled with feminine branded soaps, a razor, two wash cloths and a towel along with a four pack of underwear, ankle socks, and two sports bra's.
"You don't have the biggest chest so I just got these since they ran small, medium, large. Under wire can be a pain in the ass anyway." Is what she said.
"I don't want you to think I'm doing this because I pity you either. It's just since this is a boys home all the things we get whether it's from charity or not, are boxers, t-shirts, shorts and pants more so to fit their physique and the soaps and whatnot are as well."
I nod in understanding. Never feeling pitied at all. If anything it was an overwhelming sense of gratitude. But with gratitude came the sense of longing. I couldn't buy any of this myself. No one would buy these kinds of things for me. This was stuff she was throwing out. To give to the poor people. The lesser. The people with nothing. Me.
I purse my lips. She notices my change in demeanor. Brown with a dash of green. Sympathy shines through her like a flashlight coveted by a flimsy sheet. Her hand darts out. I flinch away. She wants to comfort me. I go rigid. Never has a hand come towards me for comfort. Never has a hand been gentle on my skin. Never has a hand retracted itself the way hers does when she notices my response.
Hands are used for slapping. Punching. Grabbing. Groping. Hands are used to pin you down. Shut you up. Hands instill fear. I clench my jaw. She gives me a tight lipped smile. Eyes apologetic. She wrings her hands together like she doesn't know what to do with them anymore. I've made her uncomfortable. She stands up and heads towards the door. I blurt a quiet thanks before she exits and she smiles. It's genuine.
"Dinner is at seven and it's six now but if you want I could just bring you your food."
I give her nod to tell her that's what I'd prefer. She leaves telling me I should get washed up. That was the first thing I did as soon as I hear the door click. I grabbed a pair of the shorts and a tank I had also found amongst the old clothes she had given me and undergarments before heading towards the bathroom. She was right it was small. Two people would be a crowd. A sink smack in the middle. A mirror above. The toilet crammed against it. And across the shower.
I turn the water on. Stripping from the dirty clothes I put them in a plastic bag. I would throw them out. The water gets hot and I only know this because the mirror fogs and so does the room. I step in the tight shower. The scolding hot water pelts down onto my skin. Washing away the sins from earlier. His touch was still fresh but I would push it to the back of my mind like the others. I scrub.
I scrub. I scrub. And, god, do I scrub. Everything. My hair, my skin, my hands, my feet. The flower that's petals had been plucked all too many times. I just keep scrubbing. Lathering and re-lathering the beige rag. Over and over. I was halfway through the cucumber melon body wash. But I kept scrubbing. His lips were on my neck. My lips. My back. My breasts. His hands were there as well. My skin felt raw. Like, one more scrub and I'd be skinless.
I wouldn't have minded.
I let my self sit under the water. Piping hot. If I was lighter I'd be red. It was probably damaging to sit under this long but I needed it. He had to be washed away. Down the drain went the evidence of his assault. His infidelity. His sins. Down the drain went the last bit of self esteem I had. My hope. My faith.
The water gets cold. I don't move. It's not until I'm shivering that I decide to. Towel wrapped around the body that had been dehumanized all too many times. I look into the mirror. It was everything I hated. Brown skin with even darker eyes. Small nose. Sizeable lips. A bruise staining the side of my face. A bruise staining my arm. Hair that was now curly because of the water. It was disgusting. I was only an object.
I look at the body. I look at the girl. The girl who grew into her curves all too soon. Look at them hips. they say. All that booty. They tell me. You too young to be looking like that. They comment. And still, they touch. They tease. You're so dark. You'd be pretty if you were light skinned. They tell you. They told me. Women on the streets. Males I'd never seen before. Cat callers. Over and over. I see it now.
Love the skin you're in. It's like a mantra. A scripture. They say it on TV. They say it on social media. But dark skin is only attractive if it's in a thong, oiled up, and in a bikini top. It's only popular in a music video. It's only beautiful if it's in a magazine and painted on a white girl. Dark skin is only beautiful if it's got curves and an attitude. Dark skin is only used to get the point across that their are children dying in the countries that are lesser.
No one really wants the dark skinned girl. I get that now. Picked and plucked from foster home to the other. To group home to the next. The men compliment my skin tone. So beautiful. Chocolate. Then they defile it. The women tell me that if I were lighter I'd be gorgeous. Those bright colors won't look good on me. Get something darker.
I used to wish that I was lighter. Maybe then I'd had been worth something. But that was a pipe dream. Dark or light. I was tainted. Tarnished. Disposable. Used so many times and no body wanted that. They want shiny and new. Not a hand me down. I stopped wishing I was lighter. I stopped trying to be worth something. I stopped hoping that someone would want what was vintage. No one wanted me.
I get that now.
