"Fixing Starts With the Tap"



I want to share a piercing piece written by Timur Khamzin in my Creative Writing Club, which is a free project for people who share my passion for writing. Plain yet powerful, this story pierces my heart every time I read it. Enjoy!

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"Fixing Starts With the Tap"

“Today. I will fix that tap today,” was my first thought this morning. How many times did I ask him to do that? He’d ignore it, as he did with most things I asked him to do, but this tap - it’s a constant reminder of him now that he’s gone. I also need to play it safe and change the lock - he still has the key.

I could still see the bruise he gave me in the ceiling mirror above our bed. My bed. It’ll be a while till I like my reflection again, but the bruise has nothing to do with it. Why did I not finish it earlier? Why would I ever let anyone treat me like a doormat? I was lingering in the bed, slow to get out as has become my habit, looking blankly at my own reflection as if looking for an answer and knowing I won’t get it. But I need answers and there’s no one to turn to for them. How can I tell anyone if I am ashamed of my own reflection?

Then I remember it’s Saturday, the sole day we’d spend our mornings together. I’d spend weekdays at mom’s in the city because it’s closer to the uni, and Saturday was his only day off. I loved Saturday mornings. He would sleep in, prostrate and vulnerable, face to the side, mouth half-open, like a child caught up in surprise, his bare back displaying fresh scratches from the night. “I need to stop with the scratching,” I keep telling myself, except I never do. I guess, it’s my way of getting back at him, even though he doesn’t seem to mind.

There are scratches like that all over me inside: some fresh, some healed into scars, but nobody sees them, luckily - I can lick my wounds in private. Did I mind when he was inflicting them? I guess I did, but he never cared enough to try and stop. Stop with all the ignoring of my desires, the abuse and, worst of all, the cheating. It was the worst, because it was like a game for him, where he didn’t care to lose. He’d act guilty, knowing all the time I’d forgive him. And I’d hate and loathe myself for that and would know that all the rest of it was well deserved. Letting him cheat went straight to my heart. Letting him ill-treat me was like biting my nails to know that I’m still alive.

I blink away my reflection and the memories. I got him out of my bed, now it’s time to get myself out. Out of bed and flat and those walls of bad feelings about myself that I built to keep him in my life. I will have to learn to take care of myself now, and I’ll start with that tap. Because there is nothing more terrifying than the sound of dripping water in the kitchen when you wake up each morning and your first thought is for it to stop.


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Image credit: Photo by Noah Buscher on Unsplash

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