Blue Glass

Hot Water

July, 1917

My head felt like a block of lead atop my shoulders as I dragged myself out of the station and trudged wearily down the street. My feet ached horribly from the small leather shoes I had shoved them into, making each step agony for me.
I didn't want to go home. I dreaded seeing my father, and didn't even want to talk to my mother. But I had to go to sleep, and there was nowhere else for me to do that.
I rounded the corner and continued my slow, painful walk home. My thoughts momentarily flitted to Heinrich. I hadn't bothered to look for him on Jasta 11's airfield—I wondered how he was doing.
I was sure to find whatever letters Manfred had sent me in my absence in the mailbox, I thought as I turned onto my street, the hole of foreboding beneath my ribs widening. That is, if he even wrote to me during that time.
I realized with a jolt of relief that I could see Svetlana from where I stood. She was sweeping the front porch and the walkway, her ice blonde hair strewn messily over her shoulders and falling in her face.
I won't have to go inside after all.
I quickened my pace, hoping my toes weren't bleeding from the sudden strain on them. Svetlana didn't look up at the sharp staccato of my heels on the pavement, so I hurried up the walkway toward her.
"Svetlana?"
She flinched and raised her head, her eyes widening.
"Lea, is that you?"
I set my suitcase down and we embraced each other crushingly. The broom Svetlana has been using clattered noisily to the ground.
"How was Berlin?"she asked when we finally let go of each other.
"It was fine." I still didn't feel comfortable telling her about my impromptu visit to Courtrai. "I just got held up is all."
She sighed. "They still haven't come downstairs."
"Who?"
"Your parents." She cast a derisive glance at the front door. "They've been upstairs all day long."
"Probably in bed fucking," I snorted. 
"Don't be vulgar." Svetlana gestured for me to stand to one side and continued her sweeping. "Shouldn't you be going inside and resting?"
"I don't want to go in there," I snapped. "The last thing I want to do is come face to face with him."
"You can't avoid him forever, Lea." Svetlana swept a pile of chaff into the street. "He doesn't look like he's going to leave anytime soon."
"I may as well try," I said. "I'm going in now to take a bath."

The first thing I noticed that was different about the house was the smell. Normally, it always reeked of cigarette smoke and burnt food, but now all I could smell was my father's woodsy cologne. The smell was a stake through my heart, and I covered my mouth and nose with one hand, holding my suitcase with the other as I made my way up the stairs.
I could hear the telltale sound of bedsprings creaking loudly as I passed my mother's door, and fought the urge to gag.
I carefully shut the door to my room behind me and sat on my suitcase to take my shoes off.
Sure enough, ridges of dried blood bordered my toenails, which looked like they were going to fall off at any second. Both my feet were a glaring scarlet, the blue veins crisscrossing them standing out against the vermilion canvas. I tossed the offending shoes across the room, the dull thud of them hitting the wardrobe door oddly satisfying.
And it was as if I was being punished for my spontaneity. No sooner had the shoes fallen to the floor did I hear the door to my mother's room open.
"The Russian ought to have made breakfast by now," I heard her grousing. "I don't smell coffee, though."
"They're lazy, those Russians." That was his voice. "You should have fired her a long time ago."
"I would, but your daughter has other ideas." I bristled at her words.
"Where is Lea?" I heard him ask. "I didn't think there was school on weekends."
My mother snorted. "She doesn't go to school anymore. The little urchin dropped out and works for a man who sells wine."
I shoved my face into the pillow in an attempt to block out their voices, which were already fading down the hallway and drifting down the stairs.
A reminiscence, unwelcome as it was, came to me.

Svetlana was standing behind my mother before the mirror, brushing her long hair. I stood at the doorway, school bag in hand, watching her slide the comb through her inky locks.
"Mama, I'm home," I said, although I knew she had already seen me in the mirror, her lips thinning out disapprovingly into a straight line.
"I can see that," she said indifferently, turning to examine her nails.
"Welcome home, Lea," Svetlana said, turning to me and giving me a small smile. "How was school?"
"It was okay." My eyes stayed glued on my mother. I wanted her to be the one asking questions like those, not Svetlana. "Are you going to a party,Mama?"
"It's none of your business, child," came the frosty reply. "And you ought to go make yourself useful somehow rather than standing here gawking at me."
My vision blurred with tears almost immediately. I was about to turn and leave when I heard a creak in the floorboards behind me.
"Good afternoon, ladies," my father said, breezing past me—clearly, "ladies" didn't include me. My mother stood up from the upholstered chair she was perched on and the two of them kissed, right in front of Svetlana and me.
I was thoroughly disgusted by now, not because of the fact that they had kissed in front of me, but of starry eyed look clouding my mother's eyes as she pulled away from my father. It was one of blind devotion, of unquestioned obedience, of obsessive, jealous love.
I didn't know what was worse: that, or the fact that my father regarded her with an expression as cool as that of a chilled cucumber. I could see absolutely no emotion in his gaze whatsoever—it didn't mirror the passion in my mother's gaze in the least.
Then Svetlana was taking me firmly by both shoulders, marching me out of the room and into the hallway, toeing the door partially closed.
"Be patient with your mother," she said, getting down on her knees before me, pulling me into a tight embrace. "She doesn't know what a good little girl she has—and for that, I pity her."

There was a sharp tap on the door. I raised my head from the pillow, staring at the door. Svetlana's knocks didn't sound like that—they were quiet, unobtrusive. Which meant....
I heard myself saying, "Come in," before I could stop myself or even make up my mind to speak or stay silent. I watched the door swing open; time seemed to slow as I watched it slowly move to reveal my mother standing in the doorway, her hair unkempt and dressed in a wrinkled sleeping robe.
"Was macht du hier?"she asked, her face screwing up in disgust as she appraised me. "I thought you were gallivanting away in Berlin."
"I was," I shot back, suddenly in no mood to be tactful or polite. "I'm home now, though. I suppose I should at least be allowed to set foot in the house I pay rent for?"
"Not anymore," my mother said, her lips curling in a satisfied smirk. "Your father is home now, and he'll be doing those things from here on in." Her lip curled. "And you ought to go downstairs and greet him."
I snorted. "Spare me. I'm staying right here where I am."
Her face turned as red as a tomato. "You insolent child. Don't shame me in me in front of him."
"I wouldn't be able to shame you any further." I jumped to my feet and bit back a gasp of pain as I hobbled as gracefully as I could to the door. "What lengths you've gone to in order to give him a decent welcome, Mother. And all for nothing."
"You bitch!" She leaned against the door I was now trying to close, digging her heels into the wooden floor. "Go downstairs this instant."
"I'd like to see you try—"
"Miss Klothilde, your coffee."
Both my mother and I started at the sound of Svetlana's voice. My mother reacted first, straightening up and looking her nose down at Svetlana.
"Russian fool. Anyone else would have taken half the time you did."
She threw me the nastiest of glares before turning away and hurrying down the stairs. Svetlana watched her go and turned to me, her face a mask of concern.
"You're already at each others' throats?"
"She's a deluded old crone," I spat. "She's lucky I haven't thrown her and her bastard out of here by now. It's been my house in all but name ever since he left her for that whore in Pomerania."
"Try to have some respect for her," Svetlana said. "I know it's hard, but she's still your mother and you still have to—"
"Scheissegal!" I spat. "There's no way in hell I'll ever have any respect for—for—"
"Svetlana?!?" My mother's shrill yell made the two of us jump.
Svetlana threw me an apologetic glance and hurried downstairs. I slammed the door in her wake, the report echoing down the hallway.
The searing pain in my feet was almost unbearable now. I sank to the floor, hugging my knees to my chest, and began to cry, not because of the pain—well, partially because of that, actually, but more because of the despondency that settled over me like a cloak.
If only Manfred was here...
The absurdity of the thought, fleeting as it was, made me sit bolt upright.
Would he even understand? Would he still want me if he knew my family history? Lovers confide in each other all the time...
I cringed. Manfred and I weren't "lovers"; I knew that for sure.
So then what are we?
We were more than friends, that much I knew. But the word "lovers" sounded so...so intimate, like we were having sex.
My cheeks reddened, and I locked my arms tighter around myself. Having fantasized about kissing Manfred was bad enough, but to daydream about sleeping with him was ten times worse. I instinctively shook my head, willing whatever dark thoughts were slowly working their way into my mind to disperse.
Still, I wonder if he would understand...
From downstairs, I could hear my mother and father in conversation, and tried to smother the wave of resentment that threatened to engulf me. I rose to my feet and hobbled across the room to my closet, where I hastily selected a set of new clothes and made my way across the hall to the bathroom.
I would take a shower first. Then, I would nap. Then I would...
I wanted to go out for a cup of ersatz coffee, but didn't feel like drowning my sorrows in a wave of culinary sorrows. I wanted to go for a walk but my feet were in no condition to even get me to work, let alone for a leisurely stroll.
But first the shower. I locked myself in the bathroom and let the water run, watching the steam begin to rise from the floor where the water struck it. I let my clothes fall to the floor and stepped into the scalding spray, grimacing at the scorching water.
It hurt, but it did me good as the physical pain began to slowly, very slowly burn all my negative thoughts to ashes—my father, my mother—until all that was left was the image of a blonde haired, blue eyed Uhlan seared eternally into my mind.
Why he continued to creep into my mind, I had no idea—i would enjoy it while it lasted. So I just stood there and let the thought of him flow into me like the oncoming tide, ferried to me by the rivulets of scorching water running down my bare skin and turning it red.

Scheissegal: I don't give a shit
Was macht du hier: What are you doing here

Vote and comment..:)
Oh and for those of you waiting for some  quality Manfred content, that's coming up...very soon! ;)
❤️❤️❤️