Everyone has a dark side...some just know how to use it. Three different women with three different secrets, but secrets can only stay buried for so long...
She wakes up at the same time every morning. No matter how hung over she feels.
Her ritual is always the same. She reads her bible like a diligent child of God and then she prays for his forgiveness- it's her fault after all. She showers in her bathroom and on most days she avoids looking into the mirror. She can't stand the sight of herself. The way he is still smeared all over her body even after all these years.
But on some days she'll look. She'll run her fingertips over the scar. She'll do it, and be filled with emotions she doesn't quite understand... Maybe she will never understand them?
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
She gets dressed. She wears a variation of the same thing every day. Blue, black, brown. Skirt, stockings, blouse, sometimes a cardigan depending on the weather which is the next part of her ritual. Check the weather channel. Hot today, no need for a cardigan.
She always goes down to the kitchen at the exact same time every morning. It gives her a chance to indulge in her one happiness. The hot cup of sweet tea she drinks in what is the most blissful moment of her day. She sits at the table under the small gazebo in their yard. No matter what the weather is, rain, snow, hail- she always sits there.
It's in those quiet moments, before her daughter has awoken that she thinks she feels like something that resembles a human. She finishes her tea and goes back inside.
She makes her lunch. Everyday. Just the way she likes it.
She cuts the crusts off her sandwiches, because that is the way her daughter likes it, and that is what a good mother would do. A good mother would want to cut her child's crusts off. That is a mother's job...
So she does it. Chop. Chop. Slice. Slice.
When she's done she assumes her position. She likes to sit in the same place every morning waiting for her to come downstairs. It keeps things predictable. She has come to believe that predictable is really all you can wish for in this world. Predictable is good. It's her version of happiness.
"Good morning." She says in the same tone every morning. It is a rehearsed tone that implies neutrality. Warm, yet neutral. Motherly. She follows it with a small smile. She tries to make this smile seem as unrehearsed as possible. But it is not. She has spent years practicing that smile.
She plants a kiss on her daughter's forehead as she leaves the house- because that is what they do each morning. It's all part of the little game they play with each other.
"Be safe," she calls after her. The irony of that statement never escapes her. Safe. Safety is a luxury reserved for those that do not dance with the devil every day.
She picks up her bag and slings it over her shoulder before she steps out the front door and onto the stage she calls her life. Working nine to five.
Single mom. How brave.
Widowed at such a young age. Such a tragedy.
High school sweetheart, cannot bring herself to love again. So sad.
That's what the world thinks anyway. Except it's all a lie. She knows it, and her daughter knows it. They don't know much about each other, but they know about the lies.
They have an unspoken rule about those. It's the rule of omission. Deliberate denial and a very blind eye. She turns a blind eye to what happens when the lights go off and her daughter pushes her window open. She turns a blind eye to the sound of her footsteps coming home in the early hours of the morning. She turns a blind eye to the extra pills she knows are being slipped into her drink at night. She just turns a blind eye. Full stop.
It's better that way. It's better to be blind. If she wasn't blind, that would mean she would need to see. And seeing...really seeing things for what they are. Seeing through the carefully veiled lies all the way down to the truth, that... that would be torture.
Because to truly see, would be to know. And it's painful knowing when all you want to do is forget.
She loves driving to work every day. She loves watching the people in their cars, rushing off for their days. She often wonders what their lives are like; are they happy or sad? Do they also tell lies and keep secrets? Are their secrets as destructive as hers?
She and her daughter don't have much in common, except that. They know how to tell lies, and they know how to keep secrets...
Their whole life is a secret. Their very existance is a secret.
