Let's write with me - The Secret Desire

Chapter Three

The Bathroom Ghost

" Die..."

" Die..."

" It's better to die...."

" DIE!"

The vain reflection of hers from the well-patinated mirror fails to sway her soul. She didn't even flinch. Throughout the tapestry of her existence, she had faced trials far graver than a mere reflection.

" They can never see you as one of them," the penetrating, sore voice ricocheted like a bullet through the small bathroom. Again, not even in the slightest did Kemboja show a nuance of concern. Nothing had been able to consolidate her self-worth.

Blackened, dirt-covered fingers jammed in front of her, seeking chaos to sow. Having emerged from a tempest of ruin, she yearned to unleash her wickedness in search of a soul to crush.

The glistening hatred in her eyes gleamed with fire, yet she failed to feel any spectrum of emotions. Even if those eyes watered with intense hope or brilliant rainbows, she did not care any less. She is a body that lives—not to feel nor to react.

" You are an outcast! A nugatory slave, neither from the land of the holy nor from the burning fire of ferocious wrath!"

She let out an eldritch howl that was almost deafening to one's ears.

BAM!

With a nonchalant flick of her wrist, Kemboja slammed the medicine cabinet shut, paying no heed to the fact that the loosening screws from the hinges might fall and could have caused her a dire consequence.

Within that fleeting instant, as the cabinet door collided with its frame, the reflection that had once stared back at her, crumbles into a myriad of tiny fragments, disintegrating into a cloud of ashes.

CREAK!

" Senget..."

Her eyes roamed the slanted cabinet, its position defying gravity as it stubbornly refused to topple. For that, she was letting her mind wander, contemplating the uncanny resemblance between the barely attached cabinet and her existence.

Her restless mind was often consumed by a peculiar desire. For this particular second, her brain itched for the cabinet, at last, to give up, and the glass finally shattered onto her feet, causing her to bleed—a constant reminder that she was indeed alive.

She wants to bleed.

She needs to bleed.

Like a whisper in the wind, she desperately wished for something horrible to befall her—accidentally. Awaiting for a brush with misfortune, a fateful happenstance.

Given the novelty of her god-given life, she would never allow any form of self-harm onto herself; an accident would be the best conceivable dance of fate she could ever desire.

Yet, the perseverance of a slanted cabinet amazed her. She could never have such a strong love for life.

At a glance, she navigated her eyes through the dimly lit square bedroom. A single bed with a deteriorated mattress waits for her in the corner. Its presence was both comforting and worn.

The mattress, maybe once plush and inviting, now shows signs of decay. Yet, despite its dilapidated state, she affectionately referred to it as her 'safe haven'.

There was only one problem: getting there was a war in itself. The invincible foe. It was a formidable adversary, a battle she yearned to conquer with every ounce of her will.

There, with a weary sigh, Kemboja stood at the bathroom door, silently enumerating her steps to the bed as if she were engaged in a secret strategy game. Her eyeballs flitted, twirled, and scuttled, scheming while her crusty, chapped lips muttered a tally under her slow breath.

1...2...3...

Eight.

Eight steps.

God...

Eight...

"Go, she's not here..."

Precisely, following the faded wear-off imprints of her foot on the beautifully varnished wood floor, each step was a whisper. The silent percussive dance carried her closer to the bed as if Paganini's violin kept her captive and serenely weaved its spell in the background.

She was breaking free and stomping each ruthless note from the devilish violinist with grace. She pursued the bed with a heavy longing as a lover longed for a stroke of tenderness and gentle caress from their beloved's hands.

As she lay on the bed, a sense of relief washed over her.

"Another safe," a flint of a smile appeared from the corner of her lips as she heard the familiar creak of the worn springs beneath her weight. The sound of her common tranquillity, an unusual lullaby that lulled her troubled mind into a state of calmness.

Often, she let her small, almond dark brown eyes wander aimlessly around the leased bedroom. After the divorce from her emotionally absent ex-husband, she, now paying 500 ringgit per month for this minuscule, odd-looking vacuum.

Whenever she needed to shell out her cash for it, she silently uttered, "Sial world". The phrase had become her silent mantra, a secret curse that encased her resentment of the capitalist nation.

If the path of homelessness were easy for a young woman like her, she would have undoubtedly walked the path long ago.

"Why am I still here?" she closed her eyelids and then tried to find her breath between the unspeakable frustration and confusion. At this point, she was at a loss for words to make sense of her situation, but she was certain of one thing, "I need to get out of this place."

HOW?!

"Just how?"

She glanced to her right, darting her eyes across the phone's screen. Silent. Black. All she could see was the black reflection. She decided to wait for a bit, entertaining her grievous anticipation of something miraculous to unfold before her eyes.

15 minutes have passed...

She was still waiting.

Courageously...

Till the chemical from the sleeping pills she bought from TikTok Shop came into effect.

"Fuck you."

After all, it was God's idea who fed her with the idea of miracles and tragically enough, every single time, he failed her.

Her vision started to blur out...

Her breathing pace started to deepen...

Just like the sound of a faint cracking fire, she whispered, "no one cares..."

Kemboja pulled up her thin, weary blanket and reached for her pillow pet that felt cold in her hands. She despised the feeling of touching something cold and moist.

Slowly, she clenched the almost flattened pillow so the heat from her body dissipated and warmed it up.

"I don't wish someone to care...," the heat dissipation from her skin encapsulated the blanket, forming a bubble of pure comfort. She let her eyes go to sleep, for she had uttered a lie.

I do wish someone stinkingly cared about me...