The word “food” sends bullets into my stomach, entering the same wound from yesterday. 

I don’t remember yesterday actually or even the days before that. Every day seems to blur, my lips gently touching death, bleeding out my vulnerability to its evil eye. But, today is different. As usual, I wake up, avoid the kitchen, fight with my mother about eating, shower with the water hitting my face leading me to believe that the few drops of water that went down my throat was enough to survive on, and then sleep. 

I do not wake up to reality until I am alone. I go through every word, every action struck upon me. I still felt the weight of his fingers sliding down my skirt and how heavy my mouth was trying to say no. 

Tears hardly came to my eyes because of the drought of water in my body. This boy knew every struggle of mine, he knew I was just a shell of a person, and he knew I was too weak to say no.

I decided to bandage and hide my wounds after that. I decided to let my thoughts and habits melt like hot wax into the cracks of my brain, making the weight on my mind heavier. 

All I can think now is if there is less of me, less fat, less skin, there is less for a man's hand.