Mary-Anne had come home early this morning, around one o'clock. Her hair was messy, her dress was almost off, she was missing a shoe, and had red marks up and down her neck. She almost crashed the car pulling in.
She stumbled through the door, hiccuping and crying, grabbing the nearest wine bottle and smashing it on the ground. I stared at her from the stairs, hair pulled back.
"Mary-Anne?" I had called hesitantly. She sobbed, then picked up a shard of glass and threw it at my direction. I gasped and ducked, but it was not needed. Her throw was way off.
"Go to hell!" she screeched. "Kill yourself! Kill me! I can't live like this anymore!" But then in the same breath, she said, "There's a man coming soon and I want you locked in your room when he comes."
"But-"
"Fuck!" Mary-Anne shrieked as her hip rammed into the table corner. "Curse that thing!"
She began to slap the table.
I stood on the stairs, watching her silently. My cardinal marks stung like bees were attacking me, over and over again. I felt something trickle down my leg from my hip, but I kept my eyes on my mother.
Mary-Anne leaned against the wood, fingers tangled in her hair. She took a deep breath, then looked up and stared at me in what seemed like disgust.
"Vivian!" she snapped. "Why are you wearing something so revealing?"
I was wearing a black tank top and shorts.
Very revealing.
Note the sarcasm.
"I think you're the one that's revealing, Mary-Anne," I said. "Wrap a blanket or the Devil's shall around you or somethin'."
The table got scolded again.
"I hate you! I hate me! I hate this table!" Mary-Anne wailed, pounding the furniture. "I'm picturing this as you!"
"Yup, kinda figured that out."
Mary-Anne reached over and grabbed a washcloth from the sink, shaking violently in either anger, sadness, or insanity.
I actually think we're all insane in this house.
Still shaking, Mary-Anne bit down on the cloth, tears welling up in her eyes. And screamed. Her cry sliced through the air, cutting it open like those razors through my skin. I turned around, covering my mouth as I climbed up the stairs. Her screams faded behind my closed door.
As I shuffled around my room, pulling out my white and red sheet and razors, my mind wrestled with itself. The song Dollhouse was playing through my mind, making me tear up. But at the "everyone thinks that we're perfect", I actually snorted.
Yeah. Right.
I became a cardinal that night. I pecked at the glass not as much as usual, though. I fell asleep halfway through normal time.
I've been really tired lately.
***
I woke up to the sound of fluttering and jabs. Rolling over onto my side, I felt my stomach pitch. I hadn't removed the sheet. I lay in a dry puddle of blood. There wasn't much, but it was enough to quicken my heartbeat.
The sounds came again. I turned and looked at my window, trying to ignore Mary-Anne's old guitar resting beneath it. Behind the curtains, a shadow hovered.
Peck.
Flutter.
Jab.
Peck.
