An abusive relationship that takes change and depression to an understandable level.
The rain poured down harshly against the sidewalk and roofs of houses outside the window, gently sliding down the glass with a sound we all seemed to know. It was dark outside, the sunset just having gone down and leaving delicate pink hues left behind on the dark canvas. The stars were coming out in the particularly dreary night, drawing everyone to the free handed canvas on display for all eyes to see. She ran her small and pale hand through her chopped, short hair. It was stained a deep shade of red, bordering on the crimson that reminded people of worse times and that echoed her pains that night, the stars and moon watching over her suffering.
She looked back at the boy in the middle of the room, hugging his knees to his chest and burying his face into them. The cloth of his jeans rubbing against his cheeks, creating a red pattern as he roughly tried to get rid of the tears. His shaky, regretful breaths suffocated the air she sat in. She was forced to breath in everything he was trying to get rid of, though she tortured herself and her sanity by wanting the same thing that she wanted to get away from.
Her small form was curled into a corner on the plush bed, surrounding herself by the blankets and pillows that were stained with makeup and tears on the worst nights, and cuddling of a pillow with a silly grin that wouldn’t go away on the best nights. She was forced to relive all their memories, running through her mind with no destination. The wet evidence of her inaudible cries were flowing down her face, dripping down her chin and dropping to her lap as her head swung down. Her thoughts slowly pushed her closer, picking at the edges of her sanity like a child who can’t stop touching a newly earned cut and making it reopen. She stitched and handled her sanity brinks with yarn that etched and yearned his name, colors that only them could remind her of the sweet times they’ve been unable to recreate.
Bright blues and baby pinks reminded her of the colors he said he loved when he was a child. They weaved the yarn along the edges of her broken heart, reminding her of a poem she once had read. It seemed to be so long ago the minute she wasn’t thinking about it. It was getting harder for her to tell the difference between the clashing thoughts that swam in her mind and what was actually happening on the outside world. She delicately tried to swing her surprisingly long legs for her small stature over the side of the comfy bed, jerking her mind back into some twisted, hazed form of reality by the amount they seemed to weigh. She carefully raised her mid section up to meet her legs in a sitting position, everything seeming to be a thousands pounds above what she could carry.
Her thoughts were light, like the wind and making her flow into a different direction. Her body felt like liquid, thick and unable to move easily. In normal circumstances she would flow like purified water, now she seemed to move like molasses. She was encased by the dark, she was full numbness. What was she to do when she felt more comforted and loved here than anywhere else she has gone? She was happy to finally feel anything at all, as if the pain and sadness had overcome her mind. It gave the illusion of vibrating in each bone, each thought that revolved around him, the words were not escapable when it came to their relationship. The encasing dark and numb that seemed to travel and sing to her every atom was welcomed instead of repressed. They sang in her breaths, and she had the feeling of emotional destruction. She could feel her pale, long fingers cracking the glass of baby colors while they tried to be stitched back together in an attempt to keep her sanity on hold.
Her breaths were shaky and ragged, they sent the man into a hidden case of flashbacks. How he would sit up after a terrible nightmare of her screaming and crying, unable to protect or help the woman he loved. He let out a soft cry, his muffled sobs fading into the background of her chaos and the storm. “Alice.” He cried out between rough sobs that overtook his body, trying desperately to get her to talk, to say anything. The image of her sitting there, observing and staring off at nothing at all was something he just simply could not take. He had seen her in many states of mind in the past, in the before. He’s seen her angry, he’d seen her depressed, sad, happy, excited, mournful, regretful, mesmerized, and everything between. He’d seen every inch of this girl. As soon as the thought crossed his mind, the overbearing weight of guilt held on his heart. The memories of her crying and feeling used, screaming at him did nothing to ease the feeling, and he tried desperately to get rid of it. It was something that he could not take, he could not watch her just tear herself apart like this. He had tore her apart himself, looking down on the petite woman as her brought his hand down in a rough form of love that she had come to accept. He had pushed her so far that she finally flew onto the concrete of the other side.
She was doing this to him for a reason. She had to be. Maybe for the choices he had made before. She wanted to punish him, she wanted to make him feel regretful for making her feel like this. His anger bubbled just under the surface at the thought of trying to make him feel regret and sorrow for what he had done to the broken piece of pottery that refused to register any sound, voice or touch outside of her mind. His sound waves tried to make her register that there was more than her mind, and he felt rage simmering from her inconsideration of his feelings. He wanted to get up and scream, hit her and throw her back over the line of obedience.
He knew he deserved it, he just didn’t want to hear it. He tried desperately to point the blame at anyone but him and the harsh words to be hurled at her were trying to escape, anything to make him feel the way it was before, not the emotion that felt like a monster eating his insides for enjoyment. It was a horrid emotion to the boy. All of his regret, sorrow, anguish, stirring within him. The feeling of tarnishing her image for the satisfaction of self importance was not worth any second. He tried desperately to cling to that anger, to try and make himself angry at her, and not at himself. But with each wracking sob his body produced, it slipped between his fingers like sand on a vacation with your fiancè. This only made him cry harder, something he had dreamed of for the time they had been together. Though he had been rough and abused the young woman, taking her back from her creativity and tying her down in one place, he still had dreamed of marrying her. Of having children with her and creating something anew. That was all fantasy now.
As his mind battled with his need for someone to blame his mistakes on, he stared into her lifeless gray eyes, the spark of life and anything that had been behind them disappearing faster than he could think. It was almost as if he could see the stitches coming undone from her limbs, as though she were some fragile doll. The morbid picture of her arms and legs falling like cloth that was sewn to a yarn torso became all he could think about. She was a blast of color in the darkening world. From a romantic ball, to up the wall, in the halls, and even when the bells called for church.
Her strides were small but confident, clumsy yet intriguingly graceful. She walked with purpose, something everyone seemed to be lacking. While they sluggishly moved their sneaker clad feet, looking for something but nothing at all with not a thing driving it. No curiosity, no happiness, just looking to get it over with. Not her. It was never her that you would see that way. Even on her worst days, when she wore sneakers and sweatpants and nothing was right, her steps were still precise and looking for another destination to stop at along the incredibly long ride that she called her life.
When she couldn't smile and she was more clumsy than usual, everyone took notice. She was such a fresh breath of air that when she became tainted everyone refused to accept the reality. When her smiles were a little dull, or she was more quiet than she already was, everyone asked her what had happened. She would try to say nothing at all, or pass it off as tired, but moments later would be spilling an event that had made her minty breath cause the intrusion of death and unhappiness with its stale and unwelcoming scent. Only when her breath was fresh and untainted would everyone breathe out a breath that they weren't sure they were holding at all, and life would return back to where it was. Her full white outfits, her small black flats, her small and pale hands that she would refuse to paint the nails of, her knee high socks that were too high for her short legs. They all added to her character that everyone knew was far from innocent, but still possessing its qualities.
They knew she had been through troubles, but they couldn't grasp how she could hold such innocence but such wisdom behind her gentle gray eyes that still held hope for her life and humanity in its sweetest. She was beauty in its rawest form.
She ran a pale finger across her lips, as cracked and dry as they were. Her life felt like it was leaking from her mouth like liquid when she drew in a shaky breath. It reminded her of a movie, when the movie staged black and thick liquid dripped out of their mouths. It stained their teeth and ruined their lips, their cheeks sunk in like a drug addict with too many years under the belt. She was losing her mind, she came to the realization. This is what it feels like to lose your mind. She tilted her small head, staring at the wall that she had been staring at for the past hour. The rain screamed and the storms brushed over trees, the darkest time of night coming to an awakening of the witching hour.
Her hair was stained by the natural beauty of Mother Nature and her eyes crafted by the most complex gray stones and the thickest smoke. She turned, her body feeling heavier and yet lighter at the same time. The feeling of when you stand from a stretching session, your limbs feeling loose, but your body feeling heavy and excruciating to walk around in. Your body composed of nothing but bones and flesh, knowing that you were forced to live a life that you never wanted in the first place.
Her feet were placed on the floor in her precise and light stepped footsteps. Her body soon followed, but it was hard to keep track of what she was doing anymore. Her feelings were slipping out of every opening, leaving nothing but black and despair. She walked over to the closet, dropping her flowery skirt to her feet and stepping out of the cream colored heels. Her shirt went over her head; her arms were hard to lift and felt almost painful to do so, but each second made it easier to stand. The flower printed and brightly colored tank top and over cardigan falling to the floor in a mess of beauty. She flicked past bright dresses and flower patterns over and over, pulling out a black lace dress from the way back. She stepped into it, the fabric a lot softer than what she was use to.
The silk dress ran over her waist and hugged her curves, running up to the curve of under her breasts and keeping them upwards. These were all things she had never done. It flowed down after it gripped on her hips, stopping mid thigh. It was short, lace going only an inch after the soft fabric stopped. Up her sides went lace with nothing underneath, showing her soft and pale skin with the rough and gripping fabric rubbing against her. Her sleeves were fully lace, stopping just below her elbow. Her collarbone was prominent, the trace of lace going up to her neck and stopped with a choker of silk with a simple silver heart holding onto it.
He sobbed, his body moving roughly back and forth as he stared at the woman transforming in front of him. The comparison of her innocent and quiet breath coming into his mind, a picture forming of black mist coating the pure white and innocent silk out of her mouth as she spoke.
She slipped into black heels, falling on her knees in front of the mirror. Her hearing was slowly lost, the racking body sobs and sounds of a storm that once calmed her was gone. She pulled out her makeup kit, placing heavy foundation all over her beautifully crafted gift of expression. She highlighted and contoured her face into a stronger, more dangerous look on her usually delicate face. Her eye makeup was not light cocoa and shimmering white, but shimmering greens and black. She did her brows and make a cat eye, making her grey eyes have a powerful, intimidating appearance. The look of a woman in a coffee house, deep red lipstick left on the rim. Who sang along to every song played, crossed legs and perfectly done attire. She twirled her hair around a curling iron, letting it fall on her shoulders. She stood and looked at herself in the mirror, how intimidating and sexy she looked. She looked insanely different, the innocence she held with her light makeup and white outfits were gone. She painted black lipstick on her lips, painted her fingernails a deep, jet red and painting her toenails to match. As three am came and ticked, she stood. Her mind was blank, and she had nothing on her face. The lack of emotion reminded her of his mother, the way she ran away from all of her issues. It became a connection of the family problems they both shared, his of violence and hers of misunderstanding. They met towards tarnished paths, and not until now did they both realize that the damage was not beautiful, but a scar of a horrid memory in their lives. She left.
The woman sat upon his bed, cross legged. She smiled with teeth of pearly white and twisted a naturally curly brown lock around her finger. The gum in her mouth popped as she chewed and looked through the book he had placed in front of her. She grinned and threw back her head as she let out a cackling laugh, tracing over the handwritten line of a memory on the notebook. She turned the page and suddenly a small polaroid of a red haired woman fell out of the notebook. She turned her head to the side slightly, picking up the photo and staring at the woman. She had on a white lace dress and white flats, her gloves were silk and up to her elbow. Her red hair was waved and her makeup light and perfect, giving her an innocent and almost child like appearance. She had been caught in the moment of laughter, her smile wide and across her face and her head tilted slightly back. Her hand was raised, she figured to cover her mouth. At the bottom of the polaroid was written a name. “Alice.” She read outloud. He looked at her with wide eyes and gently took the photo out of her hand, placing it back into the book and shutting it. His eyes welled with tears as he leaned down to place the book under his bed and she tried coming closer. His eyes turned darker. Instead of a bright emerald green they turned into a deep forest and he gently pushed her backwards. She took the hint and sat still. “Who’s Alice?” She inquired. He had so many memories flash through her mind. Of old coffee shops, written poetry books, innocence, laughter, picnics on the beach, his dream wedding of her and him, everything they’ve ever done. As soon as the peaceful memories came by, the rough ones followed suit. He thought of every time he ever laid a hand on her and how she screamed I love you, please don’t hurt me. He continued relentlessly, the bottle of Jack falling onto the floor. He began to speak slowly. “If I could only taste one thing for the rest of my life, it would be strawberries. That’s all she ever tasted of. If I could smell anything for the rest of my life, it would be vanilla and roses. That's what she smelled like. If I could have one woman for the rest of my life, it would be Alice. I don’t know where she’s gone, or who she has become, or if she’s better off without me or if she still thinks of me like I still think of her. Does she think of the times we debated God? How I was a schizophrenic? Does she think of when I loved her and she loved me? Alice is the only woman who’s ever loved me with everything I had and everything she had, and I broke her. I wish she had never met me. I destroyed her innocence and took away her qualities that everyone admired and I hate myself for it. I lost everything I had. Things people would kill for.”