I let the hot water drown my skin, rub in the soap, wash out his touch. Dirt cheap, nasty girl. I cocoon myself, in my bath towel, stand there, dripping, shivering, in the steam. Regrets aren't me, but last night just might be an exception. I can't pretend any more. I can't pretend that doing those things is okay. Paranoia, confusion, babble. I do it enough, anyway. I didn't need to touch that junk. Why I went back on my word, I'm not sure. I know what it does, I've been what it did. And I don't want to be the girl who wakes up dreading remembering, wondering what's waiting on the other side of the duvet. I really don't want to be this girl any more.
-4th December 2011
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