♡THE STORY OF ELECTRA HEART♡

PART TWO

♡HOUSEWIFE♡

            Suddenly, the car begins to slow. We’re crawling through a neighborhood.

            “What the hell are you doing?” I ask, puffing smoke into her face.

            “What do you think the wives do all day, Marina?” she asks the question to me, but she doesn’t even realize I’m there.

            “They seem happy to me,” I remark as two women amicably stroll down the sidewalk.

            Something in her snaps, and she turns to me with poison in her eyes and venom in her mouth.

            “You’re gonna be somebody someday, Marina. You know that. I’m stuck here in this fucking little hell forever. I’m gonna rot inside of a home.”

            “Electra-“ I start.

            “It’s true and you know it. Jesus, my mom has already started naming my children.”

            Her anger fades into sadness, and she hangs her perfect head, wrapped up in her thoughts. This isn’t the first time Electra has had a fit like this. I’ve learned to let her be while they happen. What can I even say though? She’s right about her future. All she can ever hope for is to become a housewife. Deep in my heart I know that that fact kills her inside.

            A while back when I was just watching TV, sitting aimlessly on my couch, she stormed into the room completely livid. With all the force she had, she flung a book at me. Hard enough so that when my stomach caught it, the air was completely knocked out of me. I wanted to shout at her, but I couldn’t form words.

            “FUCKING SYLVIA PLATH!” she had screamed.

            “What?” I managed to get out.

            “Our dumbass English teacher assigned us The Bell Jar and did you know this woman kills herself? Sticks her head right into an oven!” Electra was pacing around the room as she spoke.

            “She has so much to offer the world but she’s trapped in a goddamn house being a loving wife and mother, and she’s so miserable she offs herself. I am going to end being a housewife, so do you think I’m going to be so unhappy I want to die?”

            Her eyes locked onto mine, and a tear dribbled down her left cheek, the one with the heart. That was also the moment I realized why she didn’t leave me or try to find cooler friends. I was the only would who knew how to deal with her insanity. Really hot girls are always fucking mental, and Electra was one of the hottest. Since then she’s been concerned about her future. It never occurred to her before that being simply a mother and wife could drive a woman to her grave, and now she constantly thinks about it. Imagine that, a sixteen-year-old girl miserable over a life she isn’t even living yet.

            I’m also forbidden to even say the name Sylvia because it reminds Electra of how damn frightened she is of the future. I may be prohibited from Sylvia Plath, but I know for a fact that Electra reads her poetry every day, and she never returned her copy of The Bell Jar to school, claiming she lost it. The day after the Sylvia Plath incident was when I first saw a cut on the inside of her wrist.