Gin says, 'It's Okay'.

It’s okay, she whispered, to herself. It’s okay. How many times has she said that to herself today? In the past hour? It’s okay. It’ll be okay. You are okay.

It was okay when the lights began to dim and that last gin and tonic seemed to send her into a hazy dream. No. Nightmare. That’s what it was, in retrospect. Because it was okay.

It was also okay when she was softly swinging her hips to that god awful tune and their loud harsh voices resonating in her ears. She didn’t mind then, when they sneered at her with eyes that undressed her as quickly as the gin took its affect. It was okay.

It was okay when she felt the gin travel down her spine while they watched and she smiled. She liked being watched. Being desired. Having that power. Power. yes, she had it. And it was okay.

Wait. Was it the gin that she felt again? That not so soft, not so gentle touch, on her little dimples that peeked promiscuously from underneath her shirt. It’s okay, she chanted, yet again. Letting it ring in her head. That’s okay.

It was okay again. As the lights in that dingy room began to die out, and that made her laugh. How apt for the lights to leave her now. But she was okay. Dancing in the dark, laughing alone. Well not alone, she almost forgot she was being watched. She had wanted that. It was okay.

She loved it, or the gin loved it. She wasn't so sure anymore. How every little smile turned them on. How every bite of the lip, sent them into a frenzy. How she had so much power over these animals in heat. It was okay.....

............................................................

She had wanted this. She had told herself it was okay. She had made it okay. Gin had breathed to her how it was going to be okay. Her saviour. She had danced and swayed her way into this chaos. Her cries of no’s and enough’s were also whispering, it’s okay. You will be okay. So she closed her eyes and laid there, waiting for their turns to pass. In the midst of it all, she scrambled to find where her Power had gone. Or if she had any at all.

Memories of how she rocked and swayed her way into their repulsive embrace. Memories of her tongue savoring those last few drops of gin while she wrestled her way into an ambush. Memories of feeling nothing whilst they despoiled what was left of her. Memories of being left in a pool of tangled bodies, spent, and she, numb. Memories of panic setting in as she dressed herself in unfamiliar garb, and walked herself out.

It’s okay, she whispered, for the last time, in her bright pink room so meticulously designed by her mother. The shelves of books spilling out onto the floor, handpicked by her doting father. Her mind, a complete wreck but still able to chant her mantra back and forth, while she washed and washed and washed it all off herself.

It’s okay now. I’m okay now. I will be okay. Gin tells me so, everyday.