Her Recovery

Prolouge

My fingers trace along the cracks of the mahogany flooring in the spare bedroom's closet, and I wonder why
the damn hollow walls don't block out noise. Being close to the wall, I can hear Rosetta loudly humming an uneven sound to block out the screaming of Johnny in the next room. Closing my eyes, I go through every useless bit of information in my mind to preoccupy my thoughts, but a glass bottle shattering persuades me to open my eyes. I stand, and hold the hinges of the closet door to prevent noise, before dragging the it open. I count out 120 seconds in my head, before slipping out of the bedroom and into the next room. He's gone, and Rosetta sits in rocking silence in the far corner. I grab the broom and dustpan, and begin to sweep the broken pieces of a Jack Daniel's whiskey bottle off the floor. Stepping back to sweep everything into the dustpan, a piece of the broken bottle digs into the heel of my left foot, and I curse, causing Rosetta to look up. She looks at me with a haunted gaze, whispering, "I didn't know you were here. You shouldn't be in here. He might come back." I brush off her words, blocking her out of my mind. I hate her, but it's impossible not to pity her. I grit my teeth, and pull out the chair from the old desk and plop into it. I carefully grab the shard of glass, and pull it out of it's location halfway into my foot and sticking out of the unfaithful cotton sock that proved as no protection. I throw it into the dustpan, sighing. "Go to Merca's house tonight. Tell her you're sick and don't want to pass a cold to Johnny or me. Stay the night and come back around 6am. He'll be off to work by then." She nods silently, and walks out. I leave the room and empty the dustpan into the trash can at the end of the hall before walking into my room and locking the door behind me. I lean up against the door frame and sigh, allowing myself to slide down until I'm sitting up against the bottom of the door, knees to my chest. I close my eyes and list off trivia I know (an old method of distraction I've used since I was little), but my ears distract me when I hear the front door swing open and slam shut, both within 5 seconds. With a holler of frustration, the door to the master bedroom across the hall slams shut, and something falls to the ground with a loud thud. Probably a chair. Another thud and then a glass shattering follows. After a few moments the noise settles into quiet sobs, ended with soft even snoring. I sigh, exhausted, letting the destruction of the night sink in with the memories I know I'll always keep unwilling, with the sounds and horrors I'll always remember and play back.

I hate hollow walls.

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