Shame

Kyle

I tried to tell her tonight, I really did. I was there, and she was there, but I didn't realize she was with another. I tend to forget these simple things when she is in my eyesight. Her radiant innocence and beauty shine forth like blinding beacons when I'm within a mile of her. I can still feel her, still smell her scent. What I saw frightens me.

She knows not that which I am, or what I want. Though we have now met nearly face to face, she has yet to recognize that I'm anything. She will have forgotten about me now, I assume. But that’s okay. Very, very soon…she will be receiving a reminder. So beautiful and perfect and innocent…

Julie

I opened the door, waving at my parents. The TV was blaring the Circle of Life, my little brother cuddled up with my mother on the couch. Dad grunted at me, his gray hair shining silver in the blue light radiating from the television. Ray, seeing me, yelped in happiness and surprise. I dropped my board in the corner by the door, turning back around just in time to have him jump on me.

I staggered backwards under him. The little kid was seven years old, but he was heavy. Disentangling limbs somewhat successfully,  I ruffled his hair. He glared at me from underneath his long bangs. His green eyes glittered, and the TV's rolling savannas and gazelle reflected in his eyes. As I saw the monkey hold the little lion up, I felt ashamed. They were all so oblivious to the 'real world', so to speak.

My brother didn't deserve a sister who swore. He didn't deserve a sister who played with her friend's hearts. He didn't deserve a sister who had been what I've been through, witnessed what I've witnessed. Lion King only lasts for so long before the kids discover the pain and temptation of life. He was too good for that. Any kid was.

After kissing my little brother's forehead, I shut the front door as quietly as I could; and I turned and walked upstairs. As I hit the top of the stairs, I was plagued by memories from all sections of my life. I had grown up in this house.

By nearly getting caught at something, I realized how much my parents had given me. They had given me a perfect upbringing, a house without drugs, a healthy, loving and caring family. How much it would hurt them if they knew what I had been doing. I looked up at the mosaic of pictures on the wall. So many memories my family had together. I didn't have a right to be in those pictures. I wasn't good enough. Ashamed, I took a left and opened my door.

The smell of stale incense greeted me as I opened my door and I collapsed onto my bed. Smelling the fabric softener, I slowly sat up. I closed the blinds, and sought out a pair of pajamas. Finally discovering some in the mess that was my drawer, I shut it. I stood from where I had been squatting and moved over to the bathroom door.

This was originally the guest room, but my parents had given it to me…3? years ago. It was my territory. They didn't visit either my room or my bathroom except to tell me good night. It made me feel safe, and I knew they respected my privacy. At the same time I missed having mom watch over my room. I felt cut off.

I threw the pajamas onto the bathroom counter and stripped off my shirt. Then I removed my pants, and my socks, and finally both my bra and underwear. The neighbor's back light shone through my window, and I tried to adjust the blinds to not let it in.

I started my shower, and steam began to fill the room as I watched it swirl around myself, fascinated and overcome by fatigue. After a moment, I reached into my cupboard and took out my shampoo, conditioner and razor. I stepped into the mist filled shower and pulled the curtain tight to the side. I felt safe, here and only here.

I let my mind wander as I absently washed my hair and cleaned out the cuts spread over my legs and arms and body. The many that I had received that day were nothing new. I checked on my bruises, my scars, and then put conditioner in my hair. As I waited the minute needed to make my hair soft, I shaved my legs quickly. I washed out the conditioner, scrubbing my head hard and making sure it was clean.

As I went through the motions of cleaning my hair, the man's words kept echoing in my ears for some reason. I could almost feel his hand on my ankle when he grabbed it. 'I know where you live…' … it’s amazing what people say when they're pissed off. I'd never seen him before in my life, and I planned on never seeing him again. I leaned over, the water cascading off of my back and I examined the ankle that he grabbed. There was a hand shaped bruise forming. I didn't think he had grabbed my foot that hard, but I guess my skin was sensitive.

I emerged from the shower and tried to peer through the mist into my mirror. The mirror, wall length, was covered fine sheen of fog. Realizing it was futile, I dried myself off, toweling my hair. I brushed all of the knots out of my hair, then put on my nightshirt.

Exhausted, I left my bathroom and threw the stuff off of my bed. I climbed in, shut out the light, and knew no more.

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