Work Text:
Eyes. Their eyes are always on me.
Even now, when I'm off of that wretched stage, away from those shuttering, flashing cameras and not being ogled at by those disgusting perverts backstage, their eyes are still on me.
I feel it.
I feel their gazes on me, staring at my body in that gross way that demons always do. In that way where you know they are going to be 'gentle'.
Their hands are always there, too.
Even when I'm no longer in those bedrooms, with men old enough to be my Papa, their hands stay where they once were.
'Gentle' my ass - it hurts. It always hurts no matter how 'gentle' they are. I feel their hands grip my hips and clutch my chest and it hurts. It hurts all the time.
Even now, when I know that they are no longer here, because I slaughtered those nasty, vile demons, it hurt as I feel their hands all over me.
No matter how hard I scrub, the eyes and hands that continue to stick to me like glue will never be washed away. I will always be dirty and covered in the shame of what happened.
But at the very least I can act; act like it never happened, like the eyes stopped looking when I left, like the hands no longer touch me now that they're dead, like what happened was easily washed away.
.
.
.
I hate acting. It's like I never left that stage, or those bedrooms. It feels as though nothing changed, but once you start acting you can't stop. If I break now, who will be the fighter? Who will kill the demons that want to do the same to other adorable girls?
There's nothing I can do now. It happened and I'll have to live with it forever and ever and ever.