I flip the switch on. The light holds strong for a few seconds, before flickering from its usual bright to a yellow-dull. My sticky hands grip the white pedestal sink. I stare into it, concentrating on the rusty drain plug in the basin’s center. Breathing heavily. Stomach lurches and my head bobs. Instinctively I cover my mouth. Mistake. The thick crimson red is plastered across face. At first, it stings, filling the cracks in my chapped lips. My tongue creeps out to come to their aid. I taste the salty-sweetness and my stomach lurches again. This time it empties itself, luckily into the sink.
My long hair looms over it and I instantly pull it away, forgetting the sticky mess of my hands. Red streaks and blotches now amongst my dirty blonde. I’m coughing now. Hacking up the rest of my stomach; hands now gripping the sink again. I haven’t raised my eyes yet. I can’t look in the mirror. I don’t want to know. I don’t want to see her.
I manage to lift a shaky right hand to turn the knob on the hot water. Slowly I wash the blood away. First from my left hand; then the right. I watch the red turn pale as it mixes with the water and swirls its way down the rusty drain. I begin rinsing all the way up my arms. I jump back, the water is excruciatingly hot. My hands and forearms burn pink. Its as if the red won’t leave. Its destined to stay with me forever. There is no cleaning it off.
I step back, stumbling over the cat. It howls and hisses at me before disappearing out the door and down the hall. Startled by its loud cry, I lose balance and fall into the wall behind me. My head smashes into the medicine cabinet on the wall. One of its glass panels shatters and falls around me. I slide to the floor in defeat. The broken glass glitters all around me. I feel the warm liquid oozing from the back of my head. I sit there, motionless.
It flows down my back. My shirt is now soaked and sticky. I set my hand upon the floor. Upon feeling a p***k, I knew that a piece of glass was now lodged in the palm of my hand. A sharp pain shoots through my whole body. I don’t make a sound. What does it matter anymore? Who would hear me anyways? Who would care?
TWO
My lids slowly lift. I must have passed out here, in the bathroom. My face is soaked, dripping. My vision is blurred, but comes into focus upon Sam. The 152lb English Mastiff is straddling my abdomen and licking my face. Realizing that I’m awake, the dog backs off a bit. He whimpers. His glazed eyes stare at me.
I notice some discoloration in his coat. He’s actually covered in red. Blood of course. How could I forget? My gaze drops to my own body, also covered in the thick mess. Memories of the other night rush back and a raging headache begins to form. What have I done?
I stretch my arm towards the tub and pull myself to it. Weakly, I climb over its edge and rest in its basin. A sharp pain reminds me of the glass wedged in my palm. I tear it from my hand and toss it over the side of the tub. Using what little strength I have left, I grasp the knob and turn it slightly. Icy cool water falls from the shower-head.
I lay there for quite some time. Finally, I regain some strength and am able to get on my feet. First I turn the knob so the water becomes a steamy hot. I reach for the top button on my soaked shirt, and continue on to the rest. After letting it drop to the bottom of the shower, I proceed to remove the rest of my clothes. Naked, I scrub away at the blood and filth that has painted itself to my body.
With the dirt and grub washed away, I still feel unclean. Nothing can change that. I can’t take back what I did. I lift first one foot, and then the other out of the tub, onto the gray tile floor. Two steps to the left, and I’m at the sink, once again. I turn on the water, cup some in my hands, and rinse the blood from its edges. Then finally, I look up, into the mirror.
A thin fog has covered the reflective glass. I use my hand to clear a small area. Looking upon the mirror, I don’t even recognize her. She seems aged and weary. Her face…its so pale, so lifeless. Running my eyes over her lips, they are parched, dry, and even bleeding a little. There appears to be no expression, no emotion. Colorless cheeks and wrinkles under her eyes. Oh her eyes! Those once beautiful blues, now so sunken, so melancholy. I’m staring straight at them now, but they’re looking right past me.
THREE
Tears well up in my eyes. A single drop escapes, rolling slowly down my cheek. I feel the warmth of Sam as he brushes against my leg. Naked still, I fall to my knees and wrap my arms around the furry beast. I burry my head in his shoulder and let the tears spill out.
After sometime, I rise to my feet. By now my body is dry, but a shiver runs down my spine. I exit the bathroom and turn to the right. Walking down the hall, I pause for a moment just outside the entrance of the kitchen. My eyes are at my feet. My hand rests upon the wall, but I dare not look. The smell is enough to remind me what is there. It’s the putrid, musty, horrific scent of decaying flesh. I continue on down the hall, to the bedroom.
Once inside, I head to my dresser. The top drawer creaks slightly as I pull it open. I dress myself in undergarments before turning to face my open closet. Inside, I find a pair of faded blue jeans and slip them on. I also grab a plain gray t-shirt.
Stretching my arms to the top shelf in the closet, I’m able to reach a large duffel bag. I toss it on the bed. The bright red of the digital bedside clock catches my eye. It’s nearly noon. I have to hurry. Franticly, I tear clothes from my closet and dresser and stuff them into the bag.
On my husband’s side of the bed, there is a small bed-stand, upon which the clock rests. It’s now 12:04. I scramble over to the table, and rip open its single drawer. Inside, I know there is a small emergency stash of money. My hands are trembling as I count the bills. Fifty-six dollars. I shove the wad of cash into my pocket and zip up the duffel bag.
FOUR
Standing by my bedroom door, I turned and took one last look at it. I clicked the light switch and stepped back into the hall, toting the duffel bag on my shoulder. The next room belonged to an angel. He was my everything. All this time, and not a peep from him.
I crept into the little room and knelt beside his crib. There he was, dreaming of a better world. His tiny hand curled around the corner of his blanket. He had dark, soft hair. I ran my fingers through it gently. Then I scooped him into my arms and watched him awaken. His tiny eyes opened. They were of the most beautiful blue I had ever seen.
He was undoubtedly the most perfect infant in the entire world. Can you imagine a baby that never cries? He is my angel, my handsome little Aaron. There is never a time that I don’t see a cheerful smile across his baby face. His little toes curled in perfection. I could hardly believe he was mine. Especially after what had happened to his two sisters…
Neither of them ever had the chance to taste the air of this world. They came and went as grey masses with bulging dark eyes. Veins protruded all over their bodies. My first born, Vanessa, was supposed to complete my life. My husband had promised me one child. One beautiful child. We’d decorated a room for her and everything. She came early, but was long dead before the light touched her rotting skin.
My second, born just a year before my miraculous little boy, was Dianna. I was terrified she would share her sister’s fate. And so it was true; she too was premature, and lifeless. After her birth, the doctors advised me not to get pregnant again. I was not able to give birth to a healthy child for a multitude of ambiguous reasons. But I proved them wrong…I proved them all wrong.
FIVE
I stood, frozen, outside the kitchen once again. Looking at my bare toes, holding Aaron to my left and the bags on my right. I bent to set the bags against the wall, freeing my right arm. I covered Aaron’s tiny beautiful eyes and carried him, running through the kitchen. The back door led to the garage. I slipped my old sandals on and burst through the door.
The garage was dark and cold. My fingers fumbled for the light switch. Now I could see the stupid rusty old truck my husband drove around. I hadn’t personally driven in about a year. They’d taken my license from me when I got sick. The sickness had started just after I’d given birth to my second child. Apparently the medications I was on made me too unaware of my surroundings to handle a vehicle, and other such things. I forgave the doctors though, for taking away so many privileges. One good thing came of my sickness…it must have been the cause; the reason I have my angel, Aaron.
Of course I’d only taken the medications for a few months. Then I figured out that they inhibited conception. I couldn’t have that. I needed my miracle child. It was all I’d ever really wanted in life. I was just born to be a mother. Oh how I cried that day. Once again, I had a chance at producing life. This time felt different, special even. I just knew that Aaron would be the one. He would be my angel.
I opened the cab of the truck and fastened my gorgeous baby in his car seat. I leaned forward and kissed his little forehead. He just gazed at me and smiled, as always. I returned the smile and closed his door. I turned around to go back in through the kitchen.
Upon entering, I couldn’t help but notice the blood splattered over the black and white tile floor. This was the first time I’d looked upon it since the other night. By now it was dried and dark. The air was thick with the smell of death. I looked up and realized that the blood was not only on the floor. It had sprayed across the counters and the refrigerator as well.
I glanced down at the lifeless heap lying on the floor. It had begun to attract flies. They were buzzing all around. One was resting upon his blood-spattered cheek. I watched as it crawled across his face diagonally to his eye. His lids were open. I didn’t think this monster deserved the courtesy of closed lids. I didn’t care. The little fly was now resting directly upon his eye. It was odd to look at because I was almost expecting him to blink.
Then I turned my attention to the sink. Within it I had abandoned a bloody kitchen knife. I grabbed a plastic bag from the kitchen closet. Carefully stepping around the blood and over the body, I made my way to the sink. I rinsed the knife clean and tossed it in the bag. I shoved the plastic bag in my duffel and headed out to join my baby boy in the truck.
SIX
I opened the door to my side of the truck. I could hear a low whine coming from inside the house. How could I forget? I ran back to the door. Sam was waiting for me. I stepped back into the kitchen to grab his food bag and the two of us went to the truck. I heaved the heavy bag of dog chow into the bed of the truck. I opened the back hatch and Sam jumped in happily.
Seat-belt fastened and mirrors fixed, I pressed the garage opener. A loud rumble and the door lifted. I fumbled with the keys for a minute, trying to figure out which one would turn this rust pile on. Finally finding the right one, I shoved it in and gave it a turn. The truck shook for a few seconds before the engine started. A bit of smoke slipped out of the exhaust. I put her in reverse and backed out slowly.
I stopped in the driveway to wait for the garage to close. As I watched the door creep down, I had a flashback of the other night. It was late Friday evening, around eleven pm. I had been home, caring for Aaron as usual. My husband, Paul, had been out again. It wasn’t unusual for him to go out every weekend, and most weeknights as well. He had hardly been home in months. It was like he didn’t want to be around me anymore. And our son! He wouldn’t even look at him, let alone care for him.
Paul had changed and it seemed as if our love had died. He was physically part of this family, but his heart was elsewhere. I was beginning to suspect he was having an affair. It drove me crazy. I was up late crying every night. My only comfort was my little angel. I had no one else. When I married Paul, we had to move across the country for his job. I had to leave my friends and family behind. I thought it would be worth it because Paul once meant the world to me, and I was his everything.
Really though, moving here wasn’t so hard. I had no siblings, and my parents were aging. They passed away before Aaron was born. And as for friends, I only had a few close ones. I haven’t kept in contact with them though. So all I had was Paul, and now Aaron of course.
Anyways, that night, Paul came home mad drunk. His eyes were red. He stumbled into the house screaming at me. He told me I was a psycho and a b***h. He told me to get rid of my child. I was confused. I was hurt. Then he told me he didn’t love me anymore. I screamed back, accusing him of having an affair. It made sense. He probably had other children with his other women. Who knows? Maybe he loved them.
At this, he became more enraged than I had ever seen. His blood could have been boiling. I remember he came towards me, screaming things I can’t even remember. Hatred in his eyes. He cupped his strong hands around my neck and threw me into the wall. Then he stormed off towards Aaron’s room. I shrieked and stumbled to my feet. I threw open a drawer in the kitchen and grabbed a knife.
Paul came back into the kitchen with Aaron in his hands. My sweet little angel. He had no idea what was going on. He just smiled and gazed at me with his beautiful blue eyes. Paul said he had had enough of this child. He was going to kill my baby. I didn’t understand. Aaron had done nothing. He was pure; without sin. Why would anyone want to harm an innocent child? Paul was drunk. He was psychotic. I lunged at him with the knife, like any good mother would do. My offspring was the single most important thing to me, especially since Paul’s love for me had died.
(There will be more to the story when I get around to it.)
