Sinking Through the Cracks

Time for a Flashback

Anthony doesn't know what I saw, he just knows that I was scared.  I know that he's going to start asking me questions about what was happening, but if I talk about it, I know I'm going to go through another one. 

"Ally?" he whispers.  I don't respond, hiding my face in my hands, resting it against my knees, which are drawn tightly against my chest. 

"Ally?  What just happened?" Instead of responding, I shake my head, afraid of what I will say.  He takes my wrists and pulls them away from my face, kneeling in front of me.  I'm shaking and pain shoots up my arms from the cuts that he is squeezing. 

"Ally.  Please tell me what's happening in your head." he begs.  Since I know that he won't let this go, I try to think of a lie that he won't see through, but nothing comes to mind.

"I...  I just had a bad memory," but he wants more information.

"Ally.  I can never tell what's going on behind your eyes.  Most of the time I can guess what others are thinking, I can guess their next move, what they're going to do next, say next.  But I can't do that with you.  I can only tell that there is plenty that you aren't telling me.  Please explain something to me.  I want to understand you," he begs.

"Let me see your painting," I ask.

"What?"

"You let me see your paintings, I'll answer two questions... Truthfully," I say, bargaining furiously.  He put his head in his hands and shrugs, lifting me to my feet.  I walk to the room that I ran to before, wiping my eyes for what feels like the thousandth time today.  I stand in front of the wall and wonder what's behind it.  Anthony leaves my side and pulls down the white sheet revealing the beautiful painting beyond it.  It's me.  It's me to exactly every detail.  I'm standing against the white wall, wearing a black dress, but at the bottom, it melts.  As the dress passes the point beyond my bust it begins to transform in to almost a feather like design.  As the dress reaches the floor, it forms feathers, then birds that fly around my body.  It's beautiful.  Beautiful, but unrealistic.  My lips are nowhere near as plump and pink as the girl in the painting.  Her face is also thinner than my large, round one.  Her hair seems longer and thicker and much more beautiful than my own.  She is lastly much skinnier than I am.  I envy the girl that Anthony painted, now wondering if it's even me or if I'm just self-centered, hoping that he would paint me on his art wall.  I cover my mouth with my hand and completely take in his artwork.

"Do you like it?  It's you," he says, sounding nervous. 

"Wow," I manage, not knowing what to say.  I could stare at the painting for hours, but I know that Anthony is dying for answers.  I turn, facing Anthony and press myself into his body.  I wrap my arms around his neck and he pulls me against his chest, holding me against him with his nose buried in my hair.  He kisses the top of my head and I melt into him.  He slides his hands under my thighs and lifts me up, carrying me into his bedroom.  I kiss his cheek as he walks and I feel him smile under my touch.  He takes his time walking, and I not surprised because I'm so heavy.  I kiss his neck, leaving lingering kisses trailing up to his lips.  We're back in his room and he sinks on to his mattress.  I leave a last peck on his lips before starring into his eyes.  He bites his lip and I can tell that he's trying to decide whether to kiss me back or pursue me with his two questions.  I'm still crushing his lap when he starts talking,

"What was going through your head earlier?  What was scaring you?"

"I was having a very vivid flashback of something that happened in my past.  Of a past boyfriend."

"Then why were you scared?"

"Because...because he abused me," I say, my arms tingling, wanting to be cut, wanting to release myself from this moment.  He stays quiet and pulls me back on to his lap.  I put my head into the crook of his neck.  I don't cry, I'm too tired.  I just sit in his lap, wondering what he's going to say, what he's going to think of me.  Will he one day abandon me just like Penelope? 

We sit in silence for a few minutes and Anthony gently rubs his clenched fist up and down my arm.  The motion becomes rhythmic and I slowly fall asleep in his arms.  I find myself in that sort of in between sleep and awake period during the night. We are facing each other, both lying on our sides.  One of his arms rests on my hip, the other under my head.  Both of my arms are drawn against my chest and our legs are tangled together.  I stare at his face, calm, relaxed.  I move my left arm and place it on his jaw.  My fingers travel slowly to his lips and they rest there, memorizing their shape.  I let my arm fall back to here it was originally, falling back asleep. When I wake up, Anthony is gone.  I run my hand over the spot where he had been sleeping and it's cold, revealing that he's been gone for more than a few minutes.  I drag myself out from beneath the tangled, warm sheets and find myself stuck.  My upper body has fallen to the floor, my torso hanging over the edge of the bed.  I try to wriggle onto the floor, but something holds me back.  I tug and tug, eventually freeing myself, finding that my captor was the baggy pants that Anthony gave me to sleep in.  They got tangled in the sheets, trying to hold on to me.  I stand up, pushing the hair out of my face.  I stand in the mirror, looking at what Anthony has been looking at all night.  My hair is knotted, my makeup smudged, my body as fat as it always is.  I don't bother putting those pants back on because I know that they will just fall off again anyway.  Instead, I pull down the hem of the t-shirt.  It reaches a few inches down my thighs, but Anthony has already seen my giant legs anyway, so what's the point?  I seek out of his room and open a doorway into a bathroom.  After digging through a drawer, I find a hairbrush, and I spend the next 10 minutes detangling my hair.  I wipe off some of my makeup, still trying to look presentable, when I hear Anthony clear his throat behind me. 

"You don't need make up," he says, but I shake my head, ignoring his words.  I guess we're starting the morning with lies.