What I fear most in this world is for others to find out that the scared little girl I once was, still resides inside me. Whenever I’m confronted with an uncomfortable situation, she pulls at my skin. It clings to my bones so tightly that I feel if I move too suddenly, my bones will tear right through my flesh, exposing the skeletal structures to the outside world.

I learned an ex-lover of mine was found dead in his home, through a Daily Mail article.

I sold my body to pay for my first car. I was nineteen when I ‘volunteered’ myself for a cheque.

My head was still spinning trying to make sense of the revelation. That a young girl who had asked so many times if she could look after my dogs, was capable of ending their lives. For Christ’s sake, her first name directly translates to “emotional restraint or self-control.”

He wore that story as a badge of honour, undeniable proof that he was a good son. There was very little good in him and yet I remained tethered to him, even after the discovery that he was in a group chat called “Ugly Fat Whores.”

I would often get in trouble for not paying attention or speaking to friends when the teacher was talking. He would routinely call me out and ask me to provide answers or repeat the last few words that trailed out of his mouth. I guess this form of singling me out had proven tiresome and so ineffective that he had to up the ante. He must have thought there was no better way to punish me than public humiliation.