this time
The air is stuffy and I feel as I am on one side of a glass while everyone else is on the outside looking in. The polished wooden floors, pristine furniture and sanitated everything is more of a prison cell to me than a home sweet home. Beneath the exterior, I am decaying in a guise of perfection. My guise of false mascara eyes and thick red rouge. Ivory skin, sleek red hair finishes off the image in front of me and the only thing that marrs the picture is a faint outline of a hardened jaw under angry brown eyes. Eyes that look just like mine.
"Scarlet!" A reprimanding voice shoots through my ear and I release myself from watching my reflection in our antique wall mirror. Quickly, I rise and force a smile upon my face, turn and see a portly figure's face smeared with makeupand a corset laced so tight I fear for the lungs underneath the lavish dress. My mother. I curtsy respectfully, an automatic relfex ingrained into my mind after years of mother’s outbursts when father left. It was only five years since my life spun into disarray but it seems like the mascara she burned onto me had always been there, just like the behaviour of my mom seemed like it had always been there. I still felt the lashes against my twelve year old back. That year was both a blessing and a sin because that was the year I met Laurel. The only time I was happy was when I escaped with her, in our dusty attic, looking out the window, talking about our secrets while the rain pittered against diamond framed glasses - but enough of the past. The present speaks harshly to me asking me to meet Donnie at the door. I nod, fake smile plastered across my face. I hide an inner sigh of distress partly from seeing my disillusioned mother walk away with her dose of pills in her hand and partly from the mention of Donnie. Donnie, the man I was to marry in less than a year. No, wait, on second thought, a boy I am foced to marry with cropped blond hair and eyes of blue that many a girl would fall for. I didn't. Opening the expensive glass framed door, my mind reeled at the sight of Laurel. She was the only girl I ever met who didn't care how tight her dress was, and the only best friend I ever had. Behind her was a bouquet of roses clamped by the strong hands of Donnie. He smiles and asks in the most egotistical voice I have ever had the misfortune of hearing.... “Missed me?” My mouth feels dry as I wondered what to say, how to reply to those words. The same words he said to me the night, walking into the same door he was opening now, smelling of cologne and liqour. The only difference was I did miss him that night. I missed him for three hours, sitting by the front porch, laced up, made up and expecting him at least for the first thirty minutes. As time went on, the flush in my cheeks subsided and the smile I had faded. One person can only have so much patience and my patience was wearing thin with each minute that I waited there until realization hit me and I crumbled into the sympathetic arms of Laurel. At least she was reliable, she sat there with me, looking like she actually cared unlike Donnie did, who strode in three hours later demanding to be forgiven. And now, the nerve he had to show up again after the day all my feelings were smothered in his own interests, with those same words. I wouldn’t succumb to him again, tighting my muscles, raising a fist and opening my mouth.
“Y-yes. Yes, I have missed you.” The fist turned into a palm and it is grasped by Donnie in a firm handshake, but my muscles were still tight. I couldn’t bring myself to do it, but I soothed myself with the inner punches I was throwing into my own body. It could subsitute, it always had. We walk into the kitchen under the call of my mother again; me, Laurel and Donnie’s footsteps barely making a sound in the transition from the carpeted hallway into the wooden dining room. It was a sharp contrast to the clinking of the china cutlery and my mom hustling and bustling in the kitchen. I wonder what is driving her to this unusual bout of energy, then I sigh and remember the pills she started taking after father left. But, what was she preparing for?
"Scarlet!" A reprimanding voice shoots through my ear and I release myself from watching my reflection in our antique wall mirror. Quickly, I rise and force a smile upon my face, turn and see a portly figure's face smeared with makeupand a corset laced so tight I fear for the lungs underneath the lavish dress. My mother. I curtsy respectfully, an automatic relfex ingrained into my mind after years of mother’s outbursts when father left. It was only five years since my life spun into disarray but it seems like the mascara she burned onto me had always been there, just like the behaviour of my mom seemed like it had always been there. I still felt the lashes against my twelve year old back. That year was both a blessing and a sin because that was the year I met Laurel. The only time I was happy was when I escaped with her, in our dusty attic, looking out the window, talking about our secrets while the rain pittered against diamond framed glasses - but enough of the past. The present speaks harshly to me asking me to meet Donnie at the door. I nod, fake smile plastered across my face. I hide an inner sigh of distress partly from seeing my disillusioned mother walk away with her dose of pills in her hand and partly from the mention of Donnie. Donnie, the man I was to marry in less than a year. No, wait, on second thought, a boy I am foced to marry with cropped blond hair and eyes of blue that many a girl would fall for. I didn't. Opening the expensive glass framed door, my mind reeled at the sight of Laurel. She was the only girl I ever met who didn't care how tight her dress was, and the only best friend I ever had. Behind her was a bouquet of roses clamped by the strong hands of Donnie. He smiles and asks in the most egotistical voice I have ever had the misfortune of hearing.... “Missed me?” My mouth feels dry as I wondered what to say, how to reply to those words. The same words he said to me the night, walking into the same door he was opening now, smelling of cologne and liqour. The only difference was I did miss him that night. I missed him for three hours, sitting by the front porch, laced up, made up and expecting him at least for the first thirty minutes. As time went on, the flush in my cheeks subsided and the smile I had faded. One person can only have so much patience and my patience was wearing thin with each minute that I waited there until realization hit me and I crumbled into the sympathetic arms of Laurel. At least she was reliable, she sat there with me, looking like she actually cared unlike Donnie did, who strode in three hours later demanding to be forgiven. And now, the nerve he had to show up again after the day all my feelings were smothered in his own interests, with those same words. I wouldn’t succumb to him again, tighting my muscles, raising a fist and opening my mouth.
“Y-yes. Yes, I have missed you.” The fist turned into a palm and it is grasped by Donnie in a firm handshake, but my muscles were still tight. I couldn’t bring myself to do it, but I soothed myself with the inner punches I was throwing into my own body. It could subsitute, it always had. We walk into the kitchen under the call of my mother again; me, Laurel and Donnie’s footsteps barely making a sound in the transition from the carpeted hallway into the wooden dining room. It was a sharp contrast to the clinking of the china cutlery and my mom hustling and bustling in the kitchen. I wonder what is driving her to this unusual bout of energy, then I sigh and remember the pills she started taking after father left. But, what was she preparing for?