Shape of me✔️

Camouflage

~~S H A P E O F M E~~
The video had already been peddled round on the school's shade page before I realised what it was all about. The horror of it all finally settled on me like a second skin I couldn't shed off, like a husk I couldn't peel off, like a shell I couldn't break off. It stuck so close that I somehow couldn't remember a time I had my life in order or without bother.

I wore it with me as I walked up to him in the school's parking lot when we'd closed, my eyes red and puffy. My bones trembled and vibrated as the cold wind blasted me, piercing through my woolly shirt. But it wasn't the freezing wind that shook me. It was the friend I had grown up with most of my life. Fear.

"Did you post this?" I asked as I pushed my phone to his face. "Why did you post it? Why did you take a video of us having sex? Were you the one who posted it?" I followed up with more questions to which he shrugged in response.

I waited, feeling thoroughly agitated especially as every part of me wanted to scream out at his lackadaisical attitude towards such an important issue. But at the same time, I noted how unnecessarily calm even I sounded. I couldn't complain when I didn't sound half as emotionally affected as I actually felt.

"I didn't post it." He said slowly. "My friends did."

My mouth dropped open and another cold blast hit me in the face, this time swaying me out of balance. This had to be a joke. Whatever he was telling me had to be a joke. I took deep breaths to steady myself and hold back from ripping his curls off his stupid head.

"Why then did you take the video?" I bit down on my lip, not wanting to break down and cry. My mind replayed the video over and over again. I could see everything; how only my body had been pronounced in the clip. Even though my face had been cropped out, my curves and everything else was visible–eminently on display–and it scared me that anyone who watched it would be able to recognise who the girl was. Me.

What hurt even more was the fact that close to none of Malik's body was salient in the video. The only thing that could had been traced back to him was his pounding inside of me but in order to post the video on Instagram, the actual act was blocked by emojis.

It still didn't make the issue less worse or worrisome than it was and it most certainly didn't make me feel less abused and violated than I was.

"It was a dare, that's all." Another dare?

"What?" I choked out. I felt dizzy like my world was swimming round and round without giving me a chance to find my feet.

"I mean you looked pretty good and it would had been bomb if not for those disgusting stretch-marks." Suddenly, my voice was lost and I couldn't let out any words. I was silenced by the rush of emotions surging through me. It was difficult to think, speak or even breathe.

"Disgusting?" I finally found myself and my pitch rose an octave higher. "I looked pretty good?" I was boiling in anger, my head hollowed out and filled with rage in accompaniment with fury.

Though I was confronting Malik in person, it was clear as day that he didn't regret one bit of what he did. He was still as smug as ever after all that he had done to me.

What else could be more infuriating than him treating me like trash, treating me like I deserved what had happened to me when it was the opposite? I didn't deserve to be mistreated by a heartless person like him and I knew I didn't.

"Yes. I don't even know how I was able to f*ck you with all of them. They make me wanna puke. Sh*t! They was thick and ugly and–"

A deep gasp escaped from his mouth as my hand swung across his face. I flinched as I felt the contact; flesh against flesh, flesh against bone. It stung me almost as much as it did him and I was satisfied to know that I had hurt him.