No Better Love

three

(Trigger warning: Violence and implied sexual assault .)

We traded the bottle of wine back and forth on the trek back to my place. Andrew stopped us probably every five seconds just to hug me or kiss me. I found it to be quite endearing. As we approached my house, my heart began to beat faster, my breathing became irregular. Andrew looked down at me worriedly.

"Are you okay? Do you want to sit down for a moment?" He asked. I shook my head, downing the rest of the wine. My head felt a little fuzzy as I handed Andrew the bottle back.

"I'll see you at the gig. Later, mate." I said, rushing off. Andrew grabbed my waist, tsk-ing. I started to panic.

"Don't I get a goodnight kiss?" He asked. I quickly gave him a peck and wriggled out of his grasp. He stopped me again.

"Are you afraid the neighbors might see, baby doll?" He asked.

"Yes, that is precisely what I'm afraid of. I will see you tomorrow, Andrew." He pulled me back and kissed me hard. Our tongues mingled for a moment before I heard a door slam open.

"Beatrice, you get your arse inside. You've got more important things to do." I heard Dad say gruffly. Shit, I thought. This will not end well.

I looked at Andrew longingly over my shoulder as I walked up the steps to the house. As soon as Andrew turned around, Dad grabbed me by my hair, yanking it hard.

"Did he fuck you? Is that what you need, little girl? A good fucking? I could ruin you. That skinny little shit would never take my sloppy seconds." Dad was right. Andrew wouldn't want me if he knew how my dad treated me. I wanted to tune out everything that happened next, but I couldn't. The only option was to let it happen. It was either that, or he'd kill me. Although in hindsight, the second option was probably the more merciful one.

Later that night, I sat in front of my mirror assessing the damage. Bruises and scratches marred my skin. I almost looked as bad as when I announced that I was bisexual. Mother was so proud. Dad was less than pleased, however. My hair looked pitiful. Patches of it were ripped out, making me look like a madwoman. It was then that I got my bright idea. Milo raised his head as I went to grab my sewing kit. I pulled out my shears and began hacking away. Before long, I barely had any hair to speak of. My long brown locks were scattered on the floor around me. Milo skittered across the floor after them. At least he's happy, I thought as I began to collect the bits of hair. Slowly and carefully, I opened the window to climb out onto the fire escape. The hair was caught in the wind, dragged along to some better place.

I looked back over my shoulder into my room. I felt detached from what I was seeing. This was obviously all mine; my bed, my cat, my closet, my mirror, my clothes, my desk. Proof that I lived here. It was just the place where I lived. Not my home. It was hard feeling so displaced. The feeling was akin to loneliness. Loneliness is the human condition, Ingrid Magnussen from White Oleander had once said. It seemed to be my constant condition. But you have Andrew now, I thought. But how long would Andrew and I last? It wouldn't be long before Dad interfered somehow. Like tonight, for example. I would do any thing to keep the peace. If that meant calling it off with Andrew, then I would undoubtedly do it.

Looking into the mirror the next morning, I realized two things. I had made a horrible decision to whack off my hair, and I would probably pay the price for it in a few hours. Dad wasn't awake yet; it was still dark out. Why are you up at such an ungodly hour? My mother would say. She'd be sitting on the fire escape, cigarette in one hand, coffee in the other. I would go sit next to her and take over her coffee, whilst she finished her cigarette. Together, we'd sit and watch the sun come up, savoring the quiet few hours before we had to succumb to Dad's tyrannical reign.