'godliness' by Gwendolyn Perkins

It was at three-thirty that morning that she took the first shower, long before her father would awaken, before he would send his thundering footsteps down the hallway past her room, before the others would come to breakfast late as always, too late.

She spent the first half hour with the washcloth, scrubbing. Tearing at the forbidden places, forcing the cloth in and out, in and out. Cleaning.

The end of the hour she spent with the razor. Shaving the hair carefully at first, then ripping, pulling, twisting. Every edge short, perfect, untouched. She bit her nails down, so far that they bled horribly. More than they should have.

That was the first shower.

Three others passed and the family stepped outside the bathroom several times, listening to the water beat down, not hearing the tiny whimpers of her feet on the linoleum. And they left.

The girl walked out and put on her white dress, walking down the stairs and taking them one at a time. As she entered the dining room and sat down and placed her hands on the table, the blood trickled down the tablecloth, red on white.

Her mother asked why. Her brother turned his face away. Her father just looked.

 

Gwendolyn Perkins: Gwen lives in Seattle with her partner, Laura and their three children. Currently, she is focusing on starting a writing career and exploring multiple genres with her work. Her stories can be seen in Voices and Quantum Muse, among other publications.