Time
an excerpt

The sun scorched the sky awake. Sarah watched the colours change from the vantage-point of her bed. It had been another sleepless night, and she wasn’t looking forwards to the day.

The alarm buzzed, and she slapped the button to turn it off. Sighing heavily, she slowly sat up and pushed the covers down the bed.

Her legs hurt again. Hips, knees, ankles – pain in all her joints. The angry purple of the bruises on her calves shouted for attention, but Sarah was tired of attention. All the poking, the prodding, the needle-sticks… she was done with it, had been done with it for years. This wasn’t happening to her again.

She wouldn’t let it happen to her again.

Sarah stood up slowly, clutching the bedside table tightly with her left hand. She was strong, she had always been strong, and she wasn’t about to let a little bit of pain defeat her now, even if it did feel like death every time she took a step.

“It’s not that bad,” she muttered to herself through clenched teeth as she shuffled slowly to her dresser. “Hot shower will help, and then I’ll take some Tylenol. It’ll be fine.”

Sarah collected her clothes and went into her bathroom. She turned the tap in the shower on and watched the steam rise. Heat always helped the ache lessen. It would be better in a bath, but morning was not a good time for a bath.

She stepped out of her pyjama bottoms and pulled off her shirt. Sucking in her stomach, she turned sideways and looked at herself in the mirror. Her brown hair was hanging limply around her face. Her boobs were too small, and her stomach too big, even sucked in like this. After a couple of seconds, she let herself relax and stepped into the shower.

The hot water rushed over her body, pricking comfortingly at the soreness of her legs and the parts of her that had been so abused by needles all those years ago. She raised her hands and rubbed her face, pushing her hair out of her eyes. Tears crept out from between her closed eyelids as she lathered and rinsed her hair.

She was scared. Scared that this time she wouldn’t win. Petrified that somebody would find out before she was ready. Uncertain of her future.

Sarah pushed aside the thought and the fear and soaped up her shower pouf with body wash. She scrubbed herself all over, rubbing particularly at the places that still felt wrong, even after six years without needles or x-rays or MRIs or…

Frantically, she pushed at the tap and turned off the water. “Not again. It’s not happening again. It’s over. I’m done. I’m through.”