The effects of last night’s overzealous imbibing left the Single White Female cold and hot and motionless. With each blink of an eye, the knife in her head gently prodded the pain deeper into absolution. Her heart beat in time with an internal pulsating drum and she could feel her sickly blood struggling through her veins. She didn’t dare move for fear of exacerbating the disjointed symphony inside her skull. Instead, she sat immobile in her tepid bathwater. The water droplets crawled down her skin like tiny fingers making their way across the span of her body. SWF tried to watch the filmy liquid undulating around her and clinging to her skin, but any eye movement resulted in a surge of pain to her head. Right before the bath, four Tylenols and a large glass of water had been recruited to aid in recovery; relief had not arrived, but the girl imagined the drugs and hydration seeping into her every molecule, combating the alcohol and quieting the inner pandemonium.
However, the trauma of the mental confusion surpassed the headache; the girl knew Tylenol could not alleviate that sort of pain. She forced herself to think back to the night before; memories tried to battle their way through into her conscious realm. A night comprised of Long Island Iced Teas and sloppy dancing seemed to dominate. There was something else; something sinister; something base; something begging to be kept un-remembered. SWF’s headache disabled her from thinking too hard, so she did what she was best at: she tucked away the unsettling possibilities.
Her bathwater had grown cold so she mustered enough courage to ease her body out of the tub and onto the towel laying on the floor. The physical exertion left her head reeling and she stood patiently waiting, letting the air relieve her skin of water. In the quiet stillness, the sense of immorality had the opportunity to resurface. The Tylonel, unfortunately, freed the girl’s mind from the pain just enough so a moment from last night weasled its way into reality. Once free, it struck her violently and made her heart deteriorate into dozens of depraved little bits. Two hands gripped her waist; two hands that belonged nowhere near her body. Two large and calloused hands left burning brands on the girl that smoldered into the sickening memories. She could feel the hands burning their way into her psyche. They brought her back to last night; to the bar.
SWF suddenly realized she still stood – naked – on the towel, not in a bar. She glanced down at her stomach to make sure hand prints did not exist in physical actualization on her skin.
“What the fuck,” she thought. “I’m insane.” She grabbed her towel and vigorously massaged her dripping hair, rubbing away her headache and indiscretions.
*photo courtesy of olivia malone
Author: Liv
