Flutter by, Butterfly

Chapter 12

The limo took me home, alone. I ran crying back to my room. This wasn't a common thing, but it wasn't highly unusual either. The servants and staff were familiar enough with it that it didn't raise any eyebrows, even as some looked slightly concerned. They never looked at me for long, never said anything. I now understood they were too afraid to...

I locked my door. I ran to my shower. I crawled in, clothes and all, sat down on the tile floor, and just rocked back and forth. I felt so cold. I rocked some more, letting all the hot water warm me. When I finally convinced myself that I was alone, that nobody was coming after me, I stripped, allowing my clothes to fall down. I did not care when I noticed that they were clogging the drain. I just scrubbed myself from head to toe. When I finished, I washed my hair, then scrubbed again.

I finally came out, wrapped myself in a warm bathrobe, and saw my things on my vanity. A maid must have come and put them all back, after I had thrown them all at my mother. The hair-dryer, specially made for straightening, the straightener, all my shades of lipstick, and the eyeliner, all of these things were what my mother picked out for me. My mother treated me more like a doll than a daughter. Was there anything that was actually mine, where I got to make a decision? I shoved everything off the counter, letting the tears fall again. I saw my face in the mirror. I hated what I saw. I hated everything. I hated me. With a primal scream, I balled up my fist and hit the mirror. Great, now I was bleeding.

I felt numb. Gone were any of my feelings. There was only the pain in my hand. I ran to my closet. I shrugged out of my bathrobe, wrapping up my injury. What was I going to do? I was still terrified of everything that had just happened. If I dialed 911, it would lead to unwanted questions. I was not in the state of mind that I wanted to have to deal with anyone. So..... I unwrapped my hand and looked at it again. I did not think the cut looked that deep. It didn't hurt so much now. It would bleed, but it could be wrapped.

A drop of blood fell on the carpeted floor. It landed next to a shoe-box in a far off, forgotten corner. Wait, a shoe-box? I never kept my shoes boxed in. I then remembered what was inside. I snatched it open. An old, hand-made toy that Maria had made was inside. It looked like a bull. He was a little more thread-bare than I remembered. I called him Ferdinand. Maria said "He belonged to my little mijo." She gave him to me on the day she had to leave. I took him out of the box and held that toy so tight. I remembered my mother found me holding this toy one day, telling me to throw it in the trash. "It's old and ugly." I hid him instead. I smelled the toy. It still smelled like her cologne.

I got dressed in my warmest pajamas, rewrapped my hand, and I lay down in my bed, clutching that little toy and cried myself to sleep.