Chapter 2; obscure thoughts

The blisters on my feet cut sorely as my worn out flats showed no sign of mercy. Work at the restaurant was extremely busy and the only thing that kept me going was the dough i was rolling into my pockets. It's exactly two weeks after my birthday. I had recently hit off with this rather eccentric gay colleague of mine, Louis, whose bubbly personality has somehow, managed to make me indulge in more conversations than I had held with anyone in a year.

Louis aspires to be a makeover artist, and thus worked at the restaurant to save up for the costly school fees. He showed me how to put on proper makeup and tips on what men would like women to wear. To my own surprise, I had allowed him to cajole me into splurging quite a decent sum on a new hair cut and some clothes. My hair is now a lovely shade of auburn brown, with a fashionable side sweep that fall gently on the side. Color contacts were also introduced, and I chose Honey Amber to match my hair.

I remember how desperate I was to lose my glasses in Secondary School, having been called names by my classmates. Mother gave in to my pleas and brought me to the optician to get contact lenses... Not that it mattered though, because the name calling never did cease. They came up with new ideas to mock me.

His aspiration drove me into questioning myself... what am i saving up for? I no longer have the desire to study, although the restaurant has kindly sponsored a diploma at Shatec for me to put my communication skills into black and white, which I obviously, had aced effortlessly. Louis asked if plastic surgery had ever crossed my mind. Truth is, yes. But going under the knife felt like a luxury only celebrities could afford. And, do I really want such a facade?

Once during our work break, Louis eruditely studied my face, tracing my forehead, the bridge of my nose, circling my cheeks and a gentle tap on my lips. "You have a beautiful egg-shaped face. That is the object of envy among many girls! Even me." He winked, cupping his soft hand over my chin. "You have beautifully shaped lips. So kissable. Your iris! They are wide and enticing. I think you should do some magic right here..." His fingers went nimbly across my eyelids. Then, eyeing my chest, he added "And... there." He winked.

We dismissed it when I told him it'll definitely be placed into consideration. Because part of me still believed in men who will fall in love with the imperfections of authenticity, regardless of how pretty or ugly I am on the exterior.

It was pay day. Shuffling in my flats, I limped to the ATM and checked my balance. 12,583. All that slogging has secured me a sizable saving. I gingerly stuffed the withdrawn 20$ into my wallet, and proceeded with the torturous journey home in my screaming feet. A well-dressed woman was strutting along in front of me. In her hand was an extremely gorgeous leather bag in a delicate pink. Intricate lapels framed the front pockets, the clasps glittered under the streetlight, flashing "Prada". She was dressed provocatively, the purple dress hugged her voluptuous body like cling-wrap.

Prada. I salivated at her bag as the two of us walked down the same pathway. Her Christian Louboutins clacked noisily against the concrete, making her oblivious to my presence. Autonomously, I played with my hair, mimicking her actions. Three fore fingers delving into the fringe, sliding through upwards down the back before lingering at the neck, ending with a suggestive yet powerfully attractive flick of her wrist.

A zephyr tickled and I caught a whiff of her perfume. It smelt a little of spice, jasmine flowers and sultry tangerine. It was the kind of scent that would have driven Darren crazy, i thought, before slapping myself for even mentioning that wretched name. The woman and I parted ways as I took a left turn, arriving at the comforting brightness of the lift lobby.

"Click." The house door opened quietly. It was 10 at night, dad's usual time to quench his alcohol madness. I was surprised to see light emanating from his bedroom. I tiptoed into my room, not quite willing to see him and having to strike a monotonous conversation of proverbial questions. Just as I was about to close my bedroom door, dad appeared right in front, a stout in his left hand and his right against my door.

"Girl, have been trying to catch you at home for quite a while." Dad stumbled over his words, drenched thick in alcohol.
"Why? Yes?" I quipped the usual reply. It's probably him asking for money again.
"I have some friends coming over for a mahjong session tonight... " He shifted his body, propping himself against the door frame, as though trying to soothe uneasiness.
"Er.. okay? and? You want me out?" I crossed my hands, my tone tinged with irritation.
"Nothing. Just letting you know." He then straightened himself, handed me the beer and left.

I popped open the tab, downing the vicious brown substance from the can. Damn was the weather hot. I heard him leave as I was halfway through the shower. Fatigue won me over as I settled down onto the bed. I could vaguely make out the sound of merrymaking from the living room; laughter, raucous conversations in Hokkien and lots of booze before falling into a deep sleep.

Suddenly, I felt a hand pressed firmly against my arms, which was held over my head in a captive manner. My room was still dark, the light from the living room streamed in through the small gap of my semi opened door. It shone against the man, and it was unfamiliar silhouette. I wanted to struggle, but I realized my naked bottom was pinned down by his weight. My heart raced as adrenaline coursed through my veins, gathering strength for resistance but all was futile.

I smelt the alcohol in his breath as he bent down to lick me from my ear to my neck. I thrashed desperately and let out a half-projected scream before his free hand was clamped over my mouth. "Kiao, come over. She's resisting." The man called out in Hokkien. I saw another figure approaching, plump and short. He entered the room, reeking of sweat and nicotine. I heard the unfastening of his belt and the clumsy removal of his pants. The metal clasp hit the floor with a loud thud.

He squatted, both hands fastened on my face. I felt his penis rudely rubbing against my mouth. It was soiled with urine and perspiration. The grizzle of his pubic hair rubbed against my cheeks. A wave of nausea swept over me as he shoved his penis through my lips. I tried to bite, but his index fingers were pressed against my jaw, immobilizing my movements. Tears skeltered down my face as I gradually lost the strength to fight.

Another man came in, tall and lanky. He remained fully clothed. The huskiness of his fingers were remnant on my skin as he hastily pulled my top up, revealing my erected nipples. His hands ravaged my breasts, squeezing and groping for all his worth. The first man then proceeded to force his penis into my trembling sex, which was alarmingly wet from the conscripted arousal. The bed creaked under his penetrating movements, rhythm almost in sync with the other two.

I closed my eyes, not wanting to have anymore visual recollection of the awful experience, my body conceding to their unholy acts. The short man then switched positions with the first one, stuffing his paltry excuse of a manhood into me. The first man yanked violently at my hair, letting out distasteful groans as he jerked off, his grip tightening as he achieved orgasm, his semen spewed across my face.

The potbellied one subsequently ejaculated too, the warm liquid ricocheted across my body before pooling into my navel button. The dirtiness i felt stung on my face, penetrating every cell of my body in poignant disgrace. I curled into a ball, hands over my sore nipples and swollen labia as one by one, the men left my room. I had no idea what to do. The hatred and anger boiling up in me was fought down by the logical side of my brain, knowing i can never win them in a head-on fight.

I reached out for my clothes, stumbled out of bed and locked the door. Tears running amok, I sat down on the cold hard floor, hands folded over my bent knees. I rocked violently, still shivering from the aftermath of the rape. Footsteps receded in the living room as the men then left the house. I heard the locking of the main door. It meant that my dad was in the house. Allowing them to rape his daughter, sitting through the entire process.

The thought hit me so hard that I could almost see a literal slash across my heart. I crawled over to my phone. It was 4 in the morning. Should I call the police? But my dad was my only kin. Was that really what I want? Put my dad in jail?

I clenched my fists, my heart wanting to be left in disdain. Every ounce of courage, every fiber of strength was drained away, leaving nothing but harrowed helplessness. I stared point blank into the devouring blackness of the night, deflecting all emotions simply because I couldn't bear anymore. The rape seemed to have scorched a scar onto my brain, spreading its twisted fingers of humiliation and infamy.

Pressing firmly against my pubic area, I clawed at the lips of my sex, as though wanting to erase any traces of testosterone left. Shame hung loosely in the dead of the night as I bit my lips in all that vulnerability. I could still feel the touch of those brazen men, fresh on my skin. And the horrid images stabbed at me like the grim reaper's scythe. I felt so close to death.

"You are too nice, too kind, too forgiving.. too stupid, Violette."I scolded myself. Throwing the phone back onto the desk as I stood up.

I couldn't sleep anymore. And definitely, not going to lie on that bed ever again. I went to the bathroom, scrubbing myself so hard that I bled. But the unclean feeling never left me, plaguing me like leeches. I sat at my desk, taking deep breaths as I tried to console myself. My fingers reached out for the photograph of my mother and I. Shaking, I hugged the photo frame as tears once again sprung and fell onto the glass. I wish I knew how to fix my pathetic life.

I woke up with my head perched on the desk. No one was at home. I checked the clock. It was 2 in the afternoon. I walked out to find a note on the coffeetable. It was for me. Attached was a Charles and Keith shopping bag, and a 50$ note.

"Dear V, I know you won't forgive me. I am sorry. I owe the loansharks alot of money, and those men were willing to give me money to let them do that to you. I am sorry."

I had no idea how to describe the myriad of emotions running through me at that moment as I crushed the note in anger before launching it at the wall where it bounced off with a papery rustle. My love for my dad was held in prosecution within my growing hatred. So my dad was the one who instigated it. Selling his daughter for money.

The Charles and Keith wrapper fell away as I took the bag out from the carrier. It was a beautiful faux snakeskin bag in a vivid purple color. Brass handles showed my reflection, fuzzy from the protective layer of plastic stuck to them. My hands lusted for the leathery feel of the bag. I thought about the well-dressed woman from yesterday and her gorgeous Prada bag. Slumped against the couch, I closed my eyes to the torrent of mixed emotions in my brain. My life is already hellish. What more do I have to lose?

At that moment, was then, I became... me.

lesson 2: the only thing hard about life, isn't the obstacles, but how one chooses to deal with it.