#MeToo - That Day

"What do you think about the hashtag MeToo?" she asked.
I was sitting beside staring at the cigarette in my hands, I wasn't getting a proper answer.
I answered finally, pulling a puff "Maybe to show the world, what it has done to women around."
"It's not only about women, you know" she replied pulling out her phone and unlocking it.
"It drags out those nightmares which I finally had buried deep inside," she added, scrolling through her Instagram and there I could see photographs of him, he was happily enjoying with his family. 

His caption read "Fun with family in Paris"; "funny, isn't it?" she asked looking up at the sky.

"Stop thinking about it," I said handing over the cigarette to her.
"I was 8 years old, I couldn't tell my mom what her brother did to me for four years when his wife was away," she said with tears flowing down.
Pulling the cigarette from her hand, I threw it down stomping out the cigarette.
"He sometimes forced himself on me, for days I cried. To him, I was just a pleasurable toy, who was quieted later on with a toffee" she continued.
"I've barely interacted with people around, those days haunt me, nightmares increase with each passing day till I was isolated into darkness with not a dim ray of hope, I could feel his touch whenever someone touched me," she added on. 

I sat aside quietly listening to all that she had to spill.

"When I finally built up the courage and spilled everything to my mom, 'Don't tell it to anyone' was all she had to say and I was locked inside my room," she said
"She just shattered it within seconds, making me want to cease my life the very second," she added, I could see a stream of tears flowing down her eyes.

I put my hands on her shoulders, "Wanna move from here?" I asked pulling out my bike keys.
"The scars he gave, are deeper than it looks," she said, blocking his account. 

I could see a faint smile creeping out, now that she was free from him and her family
"Should I report his account for explicit content?" she asked me.
"Sure, why not" I replied, sticking out my tongue. 

She turned and smiled again, a thin little feeble smile, and parted her lips like she wanted to say something but couldn't. She finally poured it out, "It just unravels the curtained stains, those which took me years to finally get over it and start trusting people around me, going through the hashtag I could find much more about who had been assaulted way more than me. I don't understand I should feel sorry for them or myself."

Then, with eyebrows raised, she asked, "It's not fair, is it?"

"What?" I asked with a puzzled face.
Tears were a non-stop, flowing all along. I could feel her pain through her words, for years she had isolated herself from everyone. 

Wiping away her tears she looked up towards me and asked, "Him enjoying in peace, and me here in pieces."