The Bathtub Monologue

This black man 
Runs his fingers over a vile book,
And, twangling above me,
Like a sleepy monk over a corpse,
Reads a life
Of some drunken wretch,
Filling my heart with longing and despair…

Sergei Yesenin

I sit in the bathtub and my head is throbbing from the hangover. I feel water coming down my shoulders and watch it disappear down the drain. Yet another Saturday morning, yet another Friday night to wash down.

Funny how dirty a night out leaves you. Hair smelling of someone else’s cigarettes, the aftertaste of a kiss I did not really need and the overall stickiness that seems to remain on my body no matter how hard I scrub it.

The water is scalding, the room is baking hot. White glaze covers the mirror so it does not see me. I am all alone.

“You know what you want, ” – a complete stranger told me yesterday “that’s good.”

It was a scenario I am used to. Going out just for the hell of it and landing a pointless conversation that would occupy my mind the following day. Casual flirting with no consequences and another stranger who assumes he knows things about me.

And now I am sitting in my bathtub, trying desperately to wash it all away, promising myself to cut it out once and for all.

The water is still scalding.

I sit and think of things I do out of boredom. Or loneliness. Certain figures come to mind and stories I tell and artistic outbursts. Certain places. Laughter and tears, alcohol, drama and mirrors. This blog here, words in my head, songs on my playlist and a thousand other things I thought would never become part of me.

“You know what you want” a stranger said. Funny enough, I have no clue. I have no bloody clue.

I’m no longer washing myself, not really. Now it’s all about water burning on my skin.

I want to feel it right now, this searing sensation that will leave my legs red. Feel more, think less, that’s all I want for now. Let’s save reason for later.

I change my position and my thighs hurt. Bruises again. I look down, there are no blue spots visible, only dull pain. Water is coming down my back and disappearing in the drain. I feel it is getting colder.

I get up for the last quick rinse, then I step on the cold floor.

The room is still steaming as I reach for the towel. Then I open the door and the ritual’s over.

Another Saturday morning gone, another Friday night washed down.