SHORT STORIES

she/her

[TW: talks of verbal abuse]

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Something happens, and someone gets hurt. It's cause and effect. A simple story.

No one really explains the hurt. The pain. It's ripping me apart - tear me into two, but a slow painful thing, almost untouchable. Unrecognizable to the body, kind of sore - an overbearing pain smothering you, tightening you every chance it gets.

It slithers up my neck and pulls its tail to redden my face and pop my veins. And for just that moment, I can't breathe. And the pain has momentarily disappeared. I'm on the brink of drowning, I just need to stop. But something stops the actions - my arm is pulling this force away, it's clawing into my skin but I force against it and I'm back to the pain.

She did leave me. But not because she cheated, or that she got the abortion. But because she didn't find use in me. She no longer loved me so she discarded me.

She left a note on the fridge.

She was going to move to Europe.

Start a new life.

Like her old life was any better.

She was born in a small town in Dorian. It's discarded and abandoned now, her family's gone and moved to Reeds. She had a home birth, she'd tell me all these stories of her childhood with her abusive mother and kind father.

She'd tell me stories of her father, the picture she would paint - he was a beautiful man with gorgeous hair and a smile that could kill. He was also the nicest human being alive. She'd say that if he were alive, he'd love me. He was an artistic man. Loved to paint landscapes in their backyard. She'd shown me some of his paintings, I imagine that he painted with thin and light strokes, barely grazing the canvas - especially in his blending. She'd say he would spend most days painting and spend less time with her. She excused it because she was glad one parent didn't reprimand her for sitting down next to them when they were busy.

Her mother was always a quiet topic. Only when my mother passed away she told me - I suppose out of pity because my mom and I were best friends and she yearned for that dynamic with her.

She had only told me her mom used to beat her. With words. She was verbally abusive.

But it still wasn't okay.

She believes she isn't a strong person. She thinks that letting her mom beat her up like a punching bag and standing still and quiet was the weaker thing to do. It got worse after her father passed away because no one could quiet down the situation.

Then, out of blue, the house became quiet.

Her mother stopped getting mad.

She stopped calling her a 'bitch', a 'mistake', a 'psycho'.

Because she left.

She ran off to Caliber.

My town.

She was ten.

I met her when I was 11.

She was my best friend.

She was my prom date.

She took my firsts.

She's on the plane.