Page 9 of The Devil
When the tub is half full, I shut the faucets and take off my clothes. I climb into the warm water and watch the show for ten minutes before I quickly wash myself.
Once I’m done, I quickly climb out and put on my pajamas before I throw my dirty clothes in the lukewarm water. I have to cut down my expenses wherever I can, so I always wash my clothes in my bathwater. It sucks, and I miss the smell of the dryer sheets Mom always used.
I grab some laundry detergent and wash the few items, then rinse them quickly under the cold faucet. I twist the fabric to get all the excess water out, and after I hang my T-shirt, jeans, and the pair of panties over the small drying rack that stands in the shower, I let out a tired sigh.
I quickly brush my teeth, then head to my bedroom and crawl under the covers. I continue to watch my show until my eyes grow tired. Setting my phone down beside me on the mattress, I snuggle into my pillow.
Just as I’m about to drift to sleep, the man in the suit who came into the store last night pops into my mind, chasing the sleepy feeling away.
I wonder who he is. He looked important.
What is his life like? Maybe he travels a lot and gets to see other countries.
I’m not good at guessing people's ages, but I think he’s in his mid-thirties. I can’t remember whether he wore a wedding ring, but he’s probably married.
The image of the handsome man going home to his wife and children, where they live in a pretty house, flits through my mind, and it makes the loneliness I feel grow more.
Before the attack, I wanted a future like that with all my heart. A loving husband and children. I used to dream about living in a white-picket fence house in the suburbs with my family, while my husband and I worked in the city, earning enough to take family vacations in Europe.
We’d visit places like Greece, Italy, Spain, and Portugal.
God, I used to spend so much time dreaming about those countries.
And now I’ll never leave Aurora. I’ll work at the gas station until I’m forced to retire, and then only God knows what will happen to me.
For the millionth time, the dark thoughts creep into my mind like a slithering snake, hissing for me to put an end to it all.
What’s the use of living?
As tears threaten to fall, I squeeze my eyes shut and press my face into the pillow.
You can’t do that to Mom and Aunt Sherrie.
I might not see them, but we talk once a week, and I love hearing how happy they are down in Florida.
I love my K-dramas.
Life isn’t all bad.
A sob bursts from me, because no matter how I try to be positive, the bad far outweighs the good.
It’s been eight years since those men destroyed my life. I still see three of them, every now and then, when the bikers drive through town.
I still have nightmares.
I can still feel their hands groping me.
I still feel them inside me.
The disgust and shame haven’t lessened at all.
Just like every other day, I think about what I could’ve done differently that night.
I could’ve stayed home instead of going to the bonfire where all the seniors were getting together.
I could’ve accepted a ride from Stevie, who I was friends with, instead of staying while she left because she had to get up early for church the next morning. I should’ve done that, then I wouldn’t have ended up walking home so late at night.
I should’ve run faster when they chased me down with their bikes.
