I don’t want to eat, such an empty table. A place setting for one, the chair across from me stagnant. Is that really me? The self, the coil, the me....I am sickening. The steam is rising from the faucet now, framing my face in the mirror, a halo almost, filling out my face. I wipe a hand across one side. Clear and empty, glazed fresh and almost her. Why is she gone? I turn my hands over and under the water, it slides off my skin, so dry, almost reptilian. I can feel the heat yet I do not remove. I had come to this setting against my will, awoke to a living hell of embarrassment and humiliation. I awoke to the discovery that freedom was redefined. I awoke to a world where at first I was the only woman in a group of sexual deviants who to my way of thinking took great delight in causing me pain and distress. How I ever survived being bathed, fondled and explored by this abuser, I will never know. As a straight married woman who was so busy with my young family and escalating career, I. More

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