His hands wrapped tighter around my waist and pulled me closer to his chest. The straps of my sparsely packed bag pierced down heavy on my shoulder, threatening to sway me backward.

We climbed up the narrow, dim stairs. A group of drunken men laughed too loud from a corner.

He took my hand, shields me from their view. I looked down at his sparkling bare leg covered with a swamp of hair. I shuddered.

He took my face in his large hands, brushed the wet hair off my face and tried to tilt my face upward to meet his eyes. I couldn’t.  

He let go of me with a soft smile that crinkled up his eyes like he knew something I did’t.

The reception was new, dusted and with newspapers. A bored, old man was behind the counter. He ran his eyes over me. It paused at places.

At the red bindi on my forehead. At the gold earrings with pearl drops.

My long wet hair was curled, like careful serpents, around my neck and naked shoulders.

The white shawls I had scrunched up close, looking smaller than ever before.

He stared. Unsure if he should proceed.

I saw what he saw. A kid.

A kid, who had no idea of what was waiting inside the store.

Then his eyes met the huge, sparkly man next to me. All the doubts squashed, he shakes his head; indifferent again as he stresses on valid IDs.

The last possible moment of getting help had passed. It was too late to turn back now.

The room was glittering. Sparking. Just like him.

Creamy marble floors, a plasma TV, two rocker chairs separated by a wooden coffee table.

I kept my eyes off the bed but strains into my sight. Strange. It felt weired.

Five fluffed white pillows. A pale white comforter. No patterns. No color. The kind of bedin hotels that sinks in deeper with your sleep.

He stared at me as his lips dissolved into the same smile. He pulled out a bottle of whiskey.

Whiskey was good. Familiar. Home.

He scattered some plastic cups in the table. Some circular green plates were already arranged. He took out fried chicken wrapped in greasy aluminum foil, chicken fried rice in neat silver boxes and too many packets of green chutney & mayonnaise.

He poured me the drinks.

One glass. He smiled. I smiled back and switched on the TV.

Two glasses. He was so close to me that he wrinkled his nose as he smelt my dried sweat.

Three glasses. My stomach hurted. My chest squeezed out partial breaths.

I was in his arms. His slow hands tugged the shawl away from me. My eyes followed its arch as it landed on the floor.

He began to kiss me on my neck.

I was looking at the shawl which was splattered like white blood against the marble.

He pressed his big lips on mine. I tried to kiss him back this time.

He flung me on the bed, yanking my hair out of the way. He pulled down my dark maroon bra. It joined the white blood as red drops.

His teeth closed around my breast. I gasped. I tried to rise out of the way but got hit. His naked body. Meshed with more hair.

The world slipped in and out. A blur.

He pulled the blue underwear down my clean legs. I looked at the floor.

It was like the white blood was frothing red and blue.

Familiar pain. I brought up my drowning head.

I saw him. Hard and erect. Sweating in frustration. He couldn’t get in. But he kept trying.

Pain again.

“No.No.No.”

“Stop.”

“Please.”

“I can’t.”

I fought hard against the approaching black. The black couldn’t engulf me.

“Don’t be stupid. I’m a man. You will learn tolove it.”

He dragged me diagonally across the bed. My head was hanging off the edge, crippled by the shattered thoughts and heavy alcohol. The blackness was waiting to purge. The pain from the down fought its away.

He rammed in harder. So furious over the fact that he was denied entry for so long. When he finally got in, I let go.

I didn’t know how to run. I didn’t manage to disappear. I couldn’t hide.

An upside down world. My head, banging against the edges.

My black hair, touching the white blood angry with the red and blue froth.

I closed my eyes.

Black hole.