Desolate Love

lost innocence.

The older woman pulled into the driveway watching intently as a squirrel ran past. The animal ran past the older woman's car scurrying into a bush full of red berries. She watched carefully as it took one and ate it, the venom dripping down its throat. Janice climbed out of her car, walking over to the weak ball of fur in her tall black stilettos, admiring the animal's desperation, its eyes slowly becoming lifeless. She smirked to herself watching the squirrel become still, the writhing stopped and its life was carelessly thrown away.

The large house was cast in an isolating shadow, as soon as she entered she flicked off her heels, touching the cold stone floor, accompanied by the suffocating silence that she knew all too well. Janice never liked to admit it but she did get lonely. She was a widowed woman who lived all alone in a house that was big enough to fit an entire family, it was hard not to. She stood for a few moments, looking up the stairs and through to the kitchen. She was a strong woman but she was always afraid of a man taking advantage of her again like last time. Deep down, she was vulnerable and she knew it. Janice walked into the kitchen, flicking on the warm light and perching herself on the island stool. Crossing her legs, she pulled out a packet of cigarettes from her handbag, lighting one, staring out the kitchen window as she did. She began to think back to earlier on that day. She remembered walking into the nursery that morning, Marjorie giving her a dirty look as soon as she entered their office, she had hated Marjorie ever since she'd met her. She seemed so loud and obnoxious, self-centered and way too perky for her liking. However, Janice was an observer, she noticed things. Everytime Janice's cold stare met with Marjorie's baby blue innocent eyes, she saw Marjorie for who she really was, the way Marjorie's fingers trembled ever so slightly when she handed over the file, or how she couldn't quite meet Janice's eyes when she spoke about her "successful" meetings with clients. It was all a facade. Janice could see it, but she wasn't about to point it out. No one cared to hear the truth anyway.

As the smoke from her cigarette swirled around her, Janice's mind continued to churn, her thoughts lingering on Marjorie but also winding back to her own past. To the last man who had managed to creep into her life. That was a mistake she will never make happen again. The pain, still fresh in her mind. The sting of betrayal, cutting deeper than she cared to admit. She'd allowed herself to be vulnerable once and it had cost her EVERYTHING. Her fingers tightened around the cigarette, the ember flaring as she took another long drag. The warm glow of the kitchen lights seemed to contrast sharply with the coldness inside of her. She didn't want anyone. She didn't need anyone, and yet in the silence of the house, there was always that lingering thought, that gnawing feeling that perhaps, just perhaps, she was lying to herself.

Janice exhaled the smoke in a slow, deliberate stream, watching it curl upwards in lazy spirals before vanishing into the air. She hated feeling vulnerable, hated the rawness of emotions that seemed to strike when she least expected them. Her life, as far as she was concerned, was neatly compartmentalized into manageable sections of work, solitude, and the occasional, fleeting distraction. Each of those sections was necessary. Each one protected her from the demons that threatened to tear her apart.

The ashtray was nearly full now, a testament to the quiet rituals she practiced to stave off the loneliness. There were nights when she let her mind wander to the past dark memories that hung over her like storm clouds. But tonight, she wasn't in the mood for nostalgia. She wasn't in the mood for regrets. Instead, her mind kept drifting back to Marjorie. That woman's hollow smile, her pretense of success, her constant need for approval grated on Janice like sandpaper. It was that little flicker of insecurity that always caught Janice's eye. How pathetic. But how beautiful...

Janice's lips curled into a faint almost imperceptible smile. She wasn't like Marjorie, she was better. She lived through the fire. She survived. And if there was one thing Janice had learned over the years of hardship, it was how to mask weakness. How to appear calm, collected and impenetrable. And no one, not even Marjorie, was going to take that from her.

She leaned back in the chair, stretching her legs out before her. The cold stone of the kitchen floor felt soothing against her bare feet. Her eyes flickered to the window, where the night sky had deepened, the stars faintly visible through the haze of city lights. She used to love the stars. She used to believe in them. But that was before everything had fallen apart. Now, they were just another reminder of how far she'd fallen from the woman she once thought she was.

The silence of the house enveloped her once again, pressing in on her from all sides. It wasn't the comfortable kind of silence, the kind you could wrap yourself in like a warm blanket. It was the suffocating kind. The kind that made you realize how empty everything around you truly was. Even the house, grand as it was, felt hollow. The rooms that had once echoed with laughter and conversation now stood still and mute. Empty. Just like her.

Janice took another drag from her cigarette, watching the ember burn brightly, her gaze fixed on the glow that was slowly fading. She couldn't help but think how like the cigarette it all was the feeling of something burning out too quickly, the fleeting satisfaction that always ended in emptiness. And yet, there was something in that brief moment of light that kept her coming back. Just like with Marjorie.

It had been years since she'd let anyone close. She'd convinced herself that solitude was safer, that she was better off alone. The idea of trusting someone, opening up, had seemed so... foolish. But lately, when the nights grew long and the quiet unbearable, her mind wandered back to those moments with Marjorie. The little things that used to annoy her Marjorie's radical optimism, her laugh that seemed to fill every room, her habit of asking too many questions had started to linger in her mind, not as irritations, but as something more. What if she'd misunderstood all of it? What if, just maybe, those were the things she needed?

The thought flickered like the ember, there and gone before she could fully grasp it. No. She couldn't afford to go down that road. Vulnerability, weakness, she couldn't afford them. She was stronger than that, wasn't she? Strong enough to stand on her own, to never rely on anyone again. She was better at this, at pretending it didn't matter.

But the nagging feeling wouldn't leave her. That strange, persistent tug in her chest, the part of her that, despite all her attempts to suppress it, was still drawn to Marjorie. There was something about her, something Janice used to push away, that she was beginning to crave. It wasn't just the way Marjorie looked at her or the way she laughed. It was the way she cared, the way she was unafraid to show up and be present, to stay when Janice thought she'd push everyone away. She hated how much she missed that.

Her fingers trembled slightly as she stubbed out the cigarette, the final spark extinguishing as if marking the end of something else. The silence that followed was heavy, but it wasn't as cold as it had been before. Janice closed her eyes, trying to ignore the way her heart had quickened, the way Marjorie's face lingered in her mind. Tomorrow was another day, another day to wear the mask, to be the person she'd convinced herself she wanted to be. But the truth? The truth was something shifting inside of her, something she couldn't bury forever. And that, more than anything, frightened her.