I slammed my head against my wardrobe, wanting to scream. They were at it again, with the yelling and the screaming. Everything smelt of burning candles, all the candles burning at once. She lit all her candles when they fought to hide the scent of blood that would soon come. Vanilla, cinnamon, lavender, pine, apple pie. It was like being engulfed in a Bath and Body Works shop. Like being seduced by a French prostitute who smelled of a dozen fancy perfumes that she could afford with her paycheck. Like all the good smells had been slammed together and were slowly killing you, entering your body and destroying you. It was an awful smell and I kept banging my head against the wood, crying for it all to stop. To stop screaming and yelling and fighting and for the candles to go away and for the slams of skin hitting skin, then belt hitting skin then skin hitting contertop.
"Make it go away!" I grabbed my pillow and resorted to covering and wrapping my face with the soft cotton. The cries became louder and louder and the candles stronger and I could imagine being swallowed by candles and waves and drowning in the things that seemed so good until everything went bad.
I closed my eyes. The beating came back. My brain beat against my skull and I grabbed the bottle of asprin, taking five. It wouldn't go away.
I screamed more. The smells entangled me in their traps and devious ploys. I let them overtake me, tears pouring down my slender cheeks. Pathetic.
