"Our Insides" by Ella Torres
Reaching for the top shelf in the bathroom cupboard, I knocked his razor. Opening up in its downfall, it released all that was inside. I had not seen him in weeks and now he was all over me. My feet were covered in him. My shoulders were hit. My chest was sprinkled. Everywhere he coated me now, but my feet bore the brunt. Directly in the line of fire. Normally to be standing wet and naked covered in someone’s shaved hair would be disgusting. And it was. But I also didn’t mind so much. I liked the thought of him clinging to me. Had this been the hair that brushed my lip? Had it kissed my forehead? Or was it the one that frowned and twitched? Did it smell like him? I picked off a few and placed them above my lip, creating a kind of moustache. It was haphazard like his. He could never properly grow facial hair. Nor could he empty out his razor. The sheer volume of little pubic-like facial hairs that came out, it must have been months since he’d emptied it. And here I was, having to clean them up. The hair now on a towel that I would have to wash. Some were still on the floor. I’d have to Hoover them. So much that I thought of as ours, he only saw as mine. Mine to work or clean. I allowed myself to believe because of the moments when he could still surprise me or make me weak. I picked up a single hair and I took him inside me, willing it to grow, wondering if it would take hold of my body and line my stomach or wrap itself around my ribs. He would run through me quietly but entirely. This was how it ended too. Quietly but entirely. I was furious at him for making the decision and so glad he did. I would have stayed forever. To be happy enough seemed lucky. I liked that he believed in more than that. And now he is melded with my insides so that it is hard to tell who is who and what went wrong and what went right. Let him fall over me, cover me and then fade away.
Ella Torres lives in London and works in hospitality.
