Some times it’s easier to hold on...

The cold drops of water dripping furiously from the faucet hit my back like bullets; They stung with a feverity that tore into my flesh and each played an actupuncture tune with my heart.

The porcelain tub was gleaming in the flourescent lights, giving it the all more appearance of being spotless. Clean – That’s how I always kept everything, what if she returned and everything was a mess? She always hated clutter…. Clean… The bright orange neon shower curtain stood out against the bleached, sterile,… clean bathroom. The only color to flush it’s bare walls… White.. everything was white…

Cradling my knees and facing the wall, I anticipated the next drop. “And to think the Chinese call this torture..” I whispered loud enough so I could make sure my voice hadn’t run away, “I would take this any day over having to stare into her soul-shattering eyes…” My chest began to empty again – the drops of ice shards, rickishaing off my spine suddenly started to stick — seeming to quicken and hurt more with the though of her topaz-azure eyes.

My silent epiphany was broken by an earth shattering bang on the mahogany stained oak door, followed by a booming, husky(irritated) male voice, “For God’s sake! Did the drain suck you in? Get the hell out – I think all the germs are after 3 hours of water being poured on you!”

I was silent. I couldn’t find the words – even at that, my heart wouldn’t slow long enough for me to speak. It’s violent palputations brought forth by the sudden shattering of silence, and the shrill visions of her beautiful eyes… Suddenly, coming to the most conscious state I allowed myself these days, I admired my step-fathers words “sucked in the drain..” how if he only knew that would have been the highlight of my “shower”… Lord knows I would give —

My silence broken again by another loud collision of fists and wood. “God DAMNIT! You better be fucking dead! Answer me, or I’m breaking this fucking door down, do you understand that?!”

Finding the words, I spoke in broken spurts of breath, “I’ll be out soon. I’m reflecting.” “And I’ll bet you’re willing to pay the damned water bill since reflecting seems to take 3 fucking hours? GET OUT!” Almost as if I was a robot, I obeyed his command. I unsteadily rose to my feet turning around feeling the cold water crystals touching my warm face and slicing my face with thier arctic venom, I reached down and turned off the faucets. I stood for a few seconds allowing myself to shiver from the breeze bursting through the door frame, trying to relive the feelings of the water.

Reaching for a towel, I regained composure, and smiled the best I could. I wrapped myself in the terry-cloth warmth, and practiced, silently, my next few lies. Ready for my preformance, I swung the door open, “Sorry,” I smiled “I just get carried away.” laughing a little with the last line, hoping he would be enough of an idiot to mistake my laughing for teenage-ignorance.

Realizing he WAS just that much of an idiot, I heard him speak, this time with a much softer tone, "It’s alright, just next time you’re “reflecting” please make sure to bring an alarm with you, so that you know when it’s been past an hour. I love you sweetie, get some sleep." Smiling back at him, I replied “Oh, you bet! See you tomorrow, Chuck.”

Walking to my room I finally let the smile fade, ’thank GOD!’ I thought ’that could have been trouble. Let’s just hope he actually goes to bed, and doesn’t check the hot-water heater’ making it to my door, I grabbed the room tempature brass knob, my door was the only white door in the house, so the doorknob stood out like an eye sore amongst everyone else’s. Stumbling to my dresser (mind you, having to step over mountains of clothes that made it nearly impossible to make out the color of my cream carpet), I pulled myself into my pajamas,…..

[To Be Continued.]

Some times it’s easier to hold on...

Melanie Armstrong

Joined January 2008

  • Artist
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