She looked at herself in the mirror. Tears rolling. Her mascara making a trail all the way down to her chin. She turned on the tap, cupped her hands under it, but before she could raise it to her face another wave of nausea hit. Even before she could reach the toilet, her stomach turned: torrents poured out her mouth, her nose, it felt like every part of her was gushing. It stung, no, it burned. It was like a raging fire had been lit from inside her and was now pouring out. She closed her eyes trying to kill the pain, trying to quench the feeling of burning.
The waves stopped, not as abruptly as they have begun, but they got weaker and weaker. She could control them now. Keep them down. She opened her eyes: red. The floor mat, the tiles, the toilet bowl, all covered in red. Red with splotches of black and chunks of food. Smokies and eggs. The sight made her stomach churn and the vomiting started again. Her world went black.
A light. A bright light white light filled her vision as she slowly opened her eyes. Was she dying? Was this the road to heaven. If it was then why the hell was her body still on fire. Wasn’t there supposed to be peace before death? A strange surreal calm as a person’s soul leaves their body. Wasn’t that how all those people who came back from the dead described it, that your whole life flashes before your eyes before you see a bright light? But her life didn’t flash before her eyes, what was there to show anyway? She wouldn’t want to see it even then. The parties, the liquor, random sweaty bodies coming together in the back seat of a hired Voxy parked in a dark Westlands alley. Were these the images that she was to expect?
Her sight was clearing up. The light wasn’t the proverbial transition to heaven, paradise or Val Hala, it was the halogen lamp on her bathroom ceiling, that was her stairway to heaven. That was all the spirit that was in her life at the moment, one dreary light in a toilet covered in puke and blood.
She tried to get up, to at least sit up. She wanted, no had, to get off that floor. This was not how she would go out. This was not how she wanted the EMTs to find her. No, she still had some dignity and pride left in her. Even with the drunk photos with her skirt north of her thighs, even with the bruises still healing from her boyfriend’s latest tantrum, even with the pills still remaining in the ARV bottle: it had been what now? Three weeks after the rape? Yeah three. But her pride, yes, her pride was still there. She was still who she was. She was strong, strong enough to live… strong enough to die.
She slowly crawled to her bed, her manicured nails digging into the carpet, picking up little flecks of coke and weed. She really should have cleaned better. She was now at the foot of her bed, there was a dried out condom there, was that Barry’s? Musa’s? no it was pink, strawberry flavour, that was definitely Pius. He was always into these fruity scented things. Hope he had caught the UTI that was going around. Hope wherever he was his dick was burning as he pissed. FUCK HIM!! Fuck all of them. They deserved to die. They all deserved to die.
She pulled herself up to the bed, her bed. This bed that she had spent so much of her life on. Eating. Laughing. Crying. Moaning. This bed had seen all her emotions, it was part of her life, had always been and always would be: but not for long.
It was befitting that this was where it would all end. This was her last chapter, the grand finale to the show, the curtain call, the credits rolling. This was the end.
She was now on it, sprawled on her satin covers. She lay there on her back staring up at the ceiling. Her bra dug into her shoulder, God she wanted to take it off, she wanted to take it off so bad, she wanted nothing more in her life at that moment than to take off that bloody bra. Funny how it was so easy to get someone to do it before, as simple as a smile, a wink, a cute blonde giggle coupled with a flip of her hair. But there was no one to flirt with here, there was noone to do that. No one.
She lay there staring at the ceiling. At least the nausea had stopped. She was ok now, nothing hurt any more. Nothing but her heart. She was at peace now calm. She could now wait for it. Wait for the inevitable. She was ready. She closed her eyes. And smiled.