SELF HARM

The light clicks on, the empty bathroom doorway is now filled with the silhouette of a large man. Standing there with wides eyes and furrowed brows, Simon.

Before you can even say anything, to defend yourself, Simon marches to you, taking the knife away. He snatches it with one hand, placing it on the counter as he begins to roll up and move any covering clothing you had. He’s thorough with checking, so evidently worried about me that any thought you had about hurting yourself is replaced with a sense of heavy guilt.

He’s quiet, he’s fast, but he’s steady. He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t freak out. He just..checks.

You sit there, just as silent as well, letting his hands roam over my limp body. You don’t fight it. You stay like a scolded child, a toddler caught in an act. You avoid eye contact like it was the plague.