How to Crush the Right Way

22| scandalous

22: scandalous

Jorja Smith - Carry me home

' Broken and bruised, tell me what I am'

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"Apparently, we don't shower at all during the whole camp"

When I got home that day, the first thing I did was convince my parents not to take me to this gruesome camp.

From what we had heard from the previous grade 10s, we weren't allowed to bath for the duration of the camp, no cellphones were allowed and we would be pushed to our breaking point.

That was enough to convince me not to go. They had me at the 'not bathing' thing. The thought of not bathing brought shivers down my spine and the mere fact that mother nature was just around the corner made my mind go into a frenzy.

"Really? You're still going anyway." My mother retorted while flipping through the camp newsletter.

"What?" I enquired, to see if I heard her correctly. It almost sounded as if she said I'm going.

"You're going. First of all, your father and I paid for this camp when we paid your school fees, secondly, it's compulsory and thirdly, this would be a form of punishment."

I looked down at the tiled floor.

I was sitting on the counter, munching on an apple when I gave mom the newsletter. I had expected this conversation to go a certain way. I hadn't expected her to say that I'm going to this macabre camp.

How was it even prohibited at this century?

"Mom, you're making a rash decision. You haven't thought this through." I pleaded with her but her expression told me that she was having none of it.

"Mama, the week we're supposed to be there is the week that my period starts. I always have to shower at least 2 times a day when I'm on my period and I won't be able to shower at camp. Imagine how disgusting all that will be accompanied with that period stench - almost pungent if one doesn't bath for almost 4 days." I exclaimed.

"I'll buy you a lot of wet wipes. That should do the trick." She declared.

I could feel the tears stinging my eyes. There was nothing I hated more than being forced to do something I didn't want, but I didn't want to appear as if I was a crybaby. I was going to go to this camp and come out not broken, but alive.

"Yeah sure." I murmured, walked to the fridge, pulled out an apricot and commenced to walk up the stairs.

"Yey wena, go throw this apple in the bin!" I heard my mother shout behind me so I turned around.

Grabbing the apple core, I swiftly walked to the bin and threw it in before practically sprinting up the stairs and away from my mother.

I couldn't face her. I couldn't believe she was forcing me to do this.

Could this be considered child abuse?

What's the number for childline?

Deciding that I was being dramatic, I grabbed my sister's cellphone from the night stand and flicked it open.