You wake up in a pool of blood, your lilac sheets ruined, your legs sticky. A stack of pamphlets from your reproductive justice panel last week have fallen on the floor. The Riot Grrl poster on your wall is hanging by a thread, threatening to fall any second. Sighing, you walk to the restroom. Wash off the sticky red covering your thighs. Your back hurts, so does your stomach. You didn't sleep too well last night. You can feel the starting twinges of a headache coming. Hopefully the day will get better.
You are walking to your Inventing Feminist Media class, the breeze knifing through you. You chose the wrong day to wear a skirt. You feel as though all eyes are on you, on your back, on your ass. Every minute or so the breeze assaults you, your skirt helter-skelter. You look at your phone to check the time, your fingers scrolling. When you look up, you take a step back. There is a man before you on a skateboard, his eyes tearing through you like a bullet, his smirk jolting you awake. “How can I make you mine?”, he drawls. The light turns. You run.
You are walking back home, waiting to cross the street, when a woman accosts me. You try to point to your AirPods and make the run for it, but she leans closer saying “That man behind us is too following you”. There are many men behind me, a pack of wolves. Which one? For the rest of the day, you walk fast, then run, looking behind you every second, scanning for any sign of danger. It is broad daylight.
You take a nap, your head pounding, your body overwhelmed by the day. Meetings after meetings. So many projects, so much to do. Your blanket cocoons you, lulling you to sleep. Eyes, eyes, eyes. That's all you see in your dreams. Eyes everywhere, leeching onto you, the eyeballs slimy, gross, leaving residue. Eyes, eyes, eyes; looking, gazing, leering. You wake up in a sweat.
You are in your sweats now, walking with your roommate, Sofia. You just got ice cream, the tub cool in your hands. A man begins to walk beside me. You begin to huddle closer to your friend, the streets closing in on you. As we walk faster, he shouts, “Miss, you are very beautiful, do you have a boyfriend?”. You slip into the door of your dorm, the trepidation following me. “Damn, can't even get a break in our sweats,” your roommate says.
Sitting on the couch with your other roommate, Minni, you watch House of Dragon. “Everyone is evil in this show,” Minni remarks. “Well, yes, everyone in the Game of Thrones universe is morally gray. That's the whole point. War and medieval ages and stuff, you know”. Minni hums. “I think I like an evil woman better than an evil man.”
You see that your best friend posted an old TikTok of the two of you. It has gone viral, over a million views. It's an exciting feeling, seeing those numbers. You go to the comments. There are at least a hundred saying you look like Mia Khalifa. Because of your glasses? You exit the app.
You get in the shower, needing to wash all the dirt, grime, the gaze off. The water is hot, burning. Your body is turning red, red, red. It hurts so good. You can feel the pain, your body feeling like yours. You scrub away at yourself, itching away the sickness. When you step out of the cloud of steam, you feel only slightly better.
You and your friends are on your way to a party. Finally ready for some fun, letting go of the stressors of the day. You stop to get some cigarettes. There is a poster on the window, a brown woman gazing seductively at me, her back arched animalistically, nude.
A friend of yours is driving you back home since your roommates decided to stay for longer. He pulls up a couple blocks before your house. “Do you have to go back? Come on, don't be such a goody-goody. Let's chill in the car.” He is your friend, a close one at that, so you stay. You tell him about this book you read about female friendship that really resonated with you. You are excited as you speak, confiding in him. Out of nowhere, he whispers “The more you talk, the more I want to kiss you”. You are caught off guard. Where did this come from? He's your friend. He dated one of your other close friends. You mutter an excuse and exit the car in a hurry, feeling sick.
It's midnight. You are hunched over the sink, all alone in the apartment. Your fingers grip the edge. Everyday you try your hardest to change the toxicity around you. Nothing seems to budge. You are exhausted.You are angry. You are scared. You are so fucking frustrated. You hurl a cup at the floor, the glass cutting Your hand. You gently lick off the blood, the metallic taste clanging through your body.
You apply red nail polish to your nails. You blow out your hair. Paint your lips a piercing red. Swoosh black liner across the lids of Your eyes. You put on a dress, a necklace, and earrings to match. Your best heels. Look at Yourself in the mirror. You are ready.
A man accosts you on the street. He's older. He asks you where you are from. You don’t answer, just blink prettily, and purr at him. He is confused. You walk away.
You are sitting on your friend's couch. He shifts closer to you with every word. Next, his hand is on your thigh. He leans in. You gaze at him, your red-stained lips in a subtle pout. He kisses you. You take the lead, your mouth moves over his, your tongue slithering inside. You suck and you suck and you suck. He makes no sound. His lifeless body falls to the ground, a pool of blood spilling around it, staining the purple carpet. Red, red, red. You wipe off your lips, getting up from the couch. Rummaging through the cabinets, you find an unopened bottle of champagne. Just what you need. Taking a sip, you numb yourself of the past day.