Josephine

Josephine is alone in the house, the silence of the empty home hanging heavy in the air. She's sitting on the old, comfy couch, a hand unconsciously running through her long hair while the other lightly skims the trail of her scar. There's a look of longing and sadness in her eyes as she stares blankly at the coffee table.

The television is turned off and the ticking of the clock is the only background noise. But in her mind, its rhythm only serves to match the heavy throb between her legs. The persistent and distracting itch that she's come to be all too familiar with. She tries to push down the feeling, but it only amplifies.

In a fit of frustration, she tugs at her baggy tee, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She looks around for a moment, realizing how alone she really is. Thoughts that she tries hard to suppress, now come rushing in against her will. Her hands snake their way below, past her abdomen, over her tights. Each touch only seems to build up her need and frustration.

Josephine's fingers trembled as she pried the phone off the table, her stare fixated on the blank screen that yet mirrored her pained expression. "Jo…, y-you're o-okay…" She stuttered out to herself, hoping the sound of her own voice would help. "N-no one… n-no one c-cares if y-you touch y-yourself… i-if y-you feel… g-good…" She gulped hard, her voice barely audible over the echo of her own heavy breathing. Her words held a desperate plea for affirmation, something she so deeply craved. "Y-you… a-are… b-beautiful … n-not… m-m-monstrous…"