Darling Belle

Six

PAST

Maryjane brushed her split bottom lip with her thumb in the mirror, applying a cool, opaque ointment to the wound. Little Maisie wandered in, a flower crown from Saffron circling her head like a floral halo. Violets, babies breath, daisies... She backed out of the bedroom once her mother's presence registered.

It was too late, Maryjane stared directly at her. Little Maisie folded her hands. 'Sorry, I didn't know you were in here,' she said quietly.

Her mother didn't speak for a few moments, the tension stretching. Her heart rabbited in her chest. She began to sweat. Was that look in her eyes code for get out?

But then Ma smiled, the tightness of Maisie's throat easing. Maryjane approached her, reaching down.

Maisie flinched.

This made Ma pause, her expression now the semblance of a Severe Style sculpture. Slitted eyes, and pouty lips. Blank.

After half a moment, Maryjane bopped her nose. 'No big deal, Pearl.' Before walking out on her thin ankles.

The lack of affection in her voice had gone unnoticed by Maisie at the time. Too scared to care. It wasn't unlike Ma to do things without meaning them, especially after dad's violent outbursts. Her coping mechanism was clearly to detach from her emotions. Reality.

Another habit that'd passed onto older Maisie.

***

One starless night, Little Maisie dreamt of Rapunzel and Peter Pan. And awoke with blood and guts spilling out of her slit-open stomach. Ma held her down by the arms as he deepened the incision. Her eyes bulged out of her head.

You're not meant to be awake, Pearl.

***

A WEEK LATER..

Maisie laid in her bed, stiff as a board, her mother applying a cream on her abdomen. She watched.

It wasn't supposed to hurt, Maisie. I measured the dose of anesthesia wrong. It was an accident.

Maisie didn't say anything.

You should feel proud, Daddy's patient will have a chance at surviving now.

Plus you don't need both of your kidneys.

And it's not our fault you were an eligible candidate.

...

Don't look at me like that.

...

Your father stitched you up. You're fine.

...

Her mother placed her hand on Maisie's cheek. It was warm.

Say something, Pearl.

It was typical to seek comfort from those who hurt you, wasn't it? Maisie couldn't help but lean into her touch.

And she said, in a hoarse voice, when can I go outside to play?