Chapter 7: The Breaking Point

The blue dress was still on her body.

Amara sat in front of the mirror long after the water had stopped. Her thighs stuck together. Every small shift of skin reminded her of the thick green thing that had been inside her hours ago. She pressed her legs tighter, trying to kill the feeling. It only made it worse.

She looked at her neck. The fingerprints had gone almost black. The necklace sat heavy and cold, like it belonged there now.

She did not know the girl looking back at her.

Night came and the house went quiet except for the generator outside. Amara lay on the bed staring at the ceiling. Sleep would not come. Every time she closed her eyes she felt the stretch again, the slow push, the way her hips had lifted without permission.

She sat up.

The small drawer beside the bed held a razor blade she used for cutting paper. She took it out. It was light in her palm. She sat on the edge of the mattress and turned her left wrist up.

Just one cut. Deep enough. Then it would stop.

She pressed the edge to the soft skin. The metal was cold. A thin white line appeared where it touched. Her hand shook so hard the blade scraped sideways instead of sinking. Blood beaded in a tiny red dot.

Her mother’s voice came without warning. The way she used to pray over her in the morning. The way she said her name like it meant something.

Amara’s throat closed.

She thought of Chidinma’s smile when she held up the wet cucumber. The soft, satisfied way she had said You loved it.