Slave

“Don’t you take that tone with me.”

You close your eyes, their voice begins to fade. It’s not the same words but you know the person behind it. You take a breath. Your heart pounds rapidly in your chest. The words are different, but it’s always the same. 

“I’m sorry, let me fix that for you right away.” 

You smile. It’s your job. 

“Man, that was a tough night.” 

Sasha, your coworker. She doesn’t let most things get to her, so if she says it was tough…

“No different from any other day.” 

You play it off. You scratch at your arm, there’s a slight quiver in your hand. Your eye twitches. You look over at Sasha, worried that they’ll notice.

“Listen.” You start to say, but Sasha cuts you off.

“No.” She says quickly, grabbing your arm. “You do this every time. We’re going out tonight.”

Your eyes dart to your car, but she’s got a firm grip on your arm. She’s not letting go.

The bar is packed. It’s not your usual spot, but Sasha seems comfortable. 

The bass pounds through your chest, rattling inside you. 

Your mind drifts to the pills still in your car. 

You take another shot. The beer sweats into the wood. You drag a finger through the moisture, smearing it. Fading it.

You scratch at your arm.

“Stop that.” Sasha whispers, putting a hand on your arm.

There’s a reason you don’t go out. 

You pull your arm away, grabbing the beer and taking a swig. Your eyes latch onto the exit, but where would you go. Sasha drove, and you don’t have money for a taxi. 

Her expression softens. “You want to talk about it?” 

She’s tried this before, but you always got away.

You push back. Your chair slams to the ground. 

You look back, shocked by the sound. 

“Sorry,” You say, “I… I nee… I need to use the restroom.” The words come out in a rush.

Sasha’s on her feet, but you’ve already rushed past them. 

You brush by the other patrons, cringing at their nearness. You curl in, even as you run.

Your reflection stares back. 

Your eyes — red, raw.

How could Sasha not see? 

Your chest tightens. Your breath comes out in sharp, painful gasps. 

Your hand reaches for your purse, trembling. 

You hesitate, maybe this time… But your hands move anyway. You dump the contents into the sink. You shove everything aside, searching, needing. Where is it?

A knock on the door. “You in there?” It’s Sasha. 

No, you think, I’m not. 

You fling everything from the sink. It crashes against the floor.

You don’t remember falling to your knees. Just the ache in your joints. The cold tile, pressing into your skin. Unforgiving, solid, real.

“I’m not here at all.” 

The words barely leave your lips. 

If you’re not here at all… 

Why does it hurt?

Your fingers twitch toward the door.