Author: Sanjitha Saravanan
Title of Work: His Hands His hands. I couldn’t get the feeling of his grimy, rough hands off of me. It felt impossible, through the thousands of showers I took and the scrubbing. It was as if the mark he left was permanent. Not just the emotional scar he left but the physical one. He took away the one thing that I had control of when he violated me in ways I never could have imagined. I wanted to scrub my skin off. I couldn’t stand the feeling of his hands. His hands that felt as if they were suffocating me as they gripped around my neck and continuously violated my body. Every second with his hands on me felt like years, never ending long years.
The moments of the dreaded replayed in my head. Everytime I shut my eyes for a minute and even the moments my eyes were wide open. Locking eyes with any male figure was almost impractical. I wanted to hide in a corner, slink off into the shadows, and stay there.
“Please, please, get off of me!” my voice, begging for mercy, echoed in my head. He had simply chuckled. Not a normal chuckle but an evil chuckle, as if he found my calls amusing. The smell of alcohol in his breath was almost taunting as his low voice near my earlobe made me shiver. He mistakened my shiver for delight.
My supposedly peaceful walk to the store had turned nothing but when his hands reached out from the shadows of the dark alley and latched onto my wrist. The palm of his rugged hand violents clasped my airways, taking away from my beloved oxygen supply within seconds. I fumbled and spluttered, begging for a bit of air. The reusable Trader Joe's bag previously swinging on my arm had lost grip and tumbled deep into the alley way and into the hands of the monsters. A monster he was.
I pleaded to him with my eyes to let go and when the only thing I could see were the ghoulish, cruel eyes of the monster in front of me, I shut my eyes as tight as I could. Tears escaped my eyelids and dripped down my cheeks, my breathing ragged as black spots began to take over my vision. I was thankful for the blackness, averting my view of the black eyed monster.
His hands slowly released to minimal pressure and air flowed back through my lungs. I spluttered trying to struggle to store as much oxygen as possible. My body could no longer support my weight and I felt myself tumble down. It’s over, I thought, but how wrong I was.
His grimy hands wouldn’t let me fall though. Please, I pleaded, just let me fall. It was useless though as the monster had grabbed hold of my neck again, holding me pinned towards the wall with one hand. When I saw his cruel eyes being replaced with something like disgusting lust, I began struggling. With the specks of energy I had within me, I flung my hands forward blindly and kicked, hoping to get him. He growled but my legs didn’t feel any contact. I lost any strangling bits of strength I had as he swiftly swung a fist into my face. A sob escaped my throat as his rough hands began trailing my arm, making the hairs on my hand stand tall.
He had begun rubbing my arm, his hand slowly trailing down to where I hoped it wouldn’t go. My cries were muffled by the back of his palm and with his grimy hands still on my once precious body, I gave in to the blackness that called out to me.
A week had passed but it was as if the monster had sucked the life out of me. I was nothing but a body, a ghost of someone I used to be floating around. Waking up with my clothes torn and on the ground beside me, the pint of dawn beginning to approach but no people or monsters in sight, the flashbacks started.
My head flung up from the pillow, sweat dripping down my back and new scratches on my arm from struggling against the headboard of my bed. No monsters, just darkness. I violently shoved the suffocating covers off of me and ran to the attached bathroom, my heart racing.
I stood, watching the girl reflected on the full mirror of the bathroom. I frowned at the girl’s appearance, but she wasn’t seemingly affected by it, simply frowning back. Slowly one by one, the threatening tears that had been bottled up throughout the night started to leak. I didn’t bother wiping them away as I continued to stare at the girl, blotchy faced and reciprocating my tears. She was a ghost, just like me. The tears fell down my cheek and all the way down my chin until they dropped to the bathroom tiles beneath me.
I couldn’t stay in the house any longer. The house felt suffocating. Anywhere I was felt suffocating. Watching myself felt suffocating. It was as if the walls around me were closing in and the only thing I could feel were his hands. I just wanted his hands off of me. Off and never back again. Please, I felt like I was back at the scene, with the monster un-empathetically staring into my soul, Go away.
Practically running down the stairs, I made it to the front door and pushed myself outside, not bothering to leave a note. It’s not like my parents would notice anyway. The air outside was chilly, making goosebumps appear on my bare arms. Goosebumps like the ones the monster gave me with his voice. It was dark, no moon in sight and just the dull, bare lights of the streetlamp that illuminated our street.
I trudged down the front stairs, consciously placing my foot near the start of each step. A cloud, like smoke, appeared in front of me and disappeared into the universe everytime I breathed out the chilly air. I strided on the sidewalk, purposefully avoiding the dark cracks, kicking rocks on the way. My eyes wandered, covering every inch of square area for signs of monsters. All clear. Still, even though no one was in sight and everyone was tucked away in their bedrooms, I was on complete alert.
The rusty old park, a block down from our house, looked haunted in the midnight setting but provided a weird comfort. The tanbark dug holes into my old slippers but I couldn’t care enough. The old swingset, one that had once brought numerous positive memories, swung by itself, propelled by the wind. It creaked with each inch and the chains looked fragile.
The swings didn’t scare me though as I hoisted myself onto the black seat, the swing creaking under my weight. I sniffled and tears unconsciously began pouring down my cheeks once again. My childhood innocence while once playing on these swings were taken away from me by the monster.
In my second of lost defense, I heard the sound of a twig crack behind me. I immediately froze, every muscle of my body on sudden alert. “Wh-who is it?” I called, my voice wobbly and hoarse from the crying but the fear unmistakable.
Another twig. A creak. My heart was pounding and I felt my airways closing up. Not again, please, not again. I swiftly turned around, cautiously holding my hands out in front of me. I couldn’t express my surprise to see a girl, around my age, watching me with her arms up, as if to show she’s safe. Her highlighted brown hair blew to the side by the wind and her freckles were illuminated by a street light. She was in striped pajamas and a beige jacket, watching me carefully. You don’t know her, a voice in my head repeats, Be careful.
“I’m sorry to scare you. I just wanted to see if you were okay?” her voice was soft, almost melodious, nothing like the one of the monster.
I didn’t know the girl, didn’t know her name or even where she was from but at that moment, the only thing I could see was the genuineness in her eyes. A traitorous sob escaped my lips in response to her question. She immediately strided over to me but I flinched as she neared. She stopped a few steps away.
“Whatever you’re going through, it’ll get better,” she says again, reaching out for my hand. My hand trembles as I place it on hers. The amount of truth and conviction in her voice almost pounds me. Not a moment later, I break down, falling into her arms as she catches me perfectly. She rubs my back soothingly, a complete stranger comforting me.
In those moments near midnight, in the haunted park, I tell her. I tell her about the hands and about the monster. I look up to see tears shining in her eyes but she doesn’t let me go. Not once, even to wipe her eyes.
“You’re not alone.”