HER

CHAPTER 9 Cherry (MARINA)

I pulled away, I just couldn't do it. I wasn't ready. And I hated myself for it. It certainly wasn't normal what I felt for Lana, but it felt... right? Natural? There wasn't a word for it. I knew of men who felt these urges and had acted upon them. I had read about it in the news, they were eventually caught and imprisoned. Strangely enough I had never read about women who were caught. But what I had with Lana was good, and I didn't want to ruin it. Not like the last time.

We ended up talking for hours. About life. Our families. Everything. I had never felt so close to someone. I had never revealed so much about myself. It was enlightening to say the least. Although I learned so much about Lana, as corny as it is, I learned a lot about myself.

I found I hated it when people call me pretty. It's such an empty word. When people say it to you so often it looses it's meaning. When someone calls me ugly or controlling, I accept it, for at least it's a change. Something different from what I'm so used to. Lana called me interesting. And she didn't even know just how much that thrilled me. Right down to my core.

But...

She still called me Marina. I didn't realise how much she used my name, how easy it rolled off her tongue. And it broke me. It hurt so much. I didn't know how to make her understand. I didn't mind to begin with but the more she said it the more it felt like a dagger being pushed slowly into my side.

Electra Heart was a bit outlandish and I know she thought I was living in a fantasy, but at least it was mine. Something that I could control. It made me feel grounded.

We went back to the same diner, stopping to grab a quick bite before piling our bags into the car.

I ordered an omelette and coffee, feeling tired and worn out. My cheeks hurt from talking so much. Lana always surprised me. She ordered a big slice of cherry pie and Pepsi cola. I had never seen someone order that at such an odd time. I smiled. She had such a sweet tooth. I valued and locked these little pieces of information inside me. Loving the feeling of how much more we had to discover about one another.

We drove at night thinking it might be safer. Less likely to get recognised in the dark. I started to feel sick and felt my pants fill with a slick wetness. Why did this always happen. Right when I finally relaxed and felt safe, another curveball was thrown at me. I waited for half an hour, until we finally passed a bar. This was my chance.

"Please pull over."

"Why? Is everything okay?"

"I need to get out."

I motioned towards the bar, Lana concerned, nodded and complied. Stepping out the car, dizzily, I hobbled inside, searching for the toilets. Sweat beaded on my forehead from trying to remain straight instead of doubled over. It felt like cramps. Bad ones.

I had a sudden flashback of the night I shot him.

My stomach was slightly bloated, he definitely hadn't noticed but when I was getting undressed I could see the swell. I hadn't had my period in weeks. Yet I bled every time he injected me with his filth.

Sitting in that white bathtub, watching the blood trickle out. Watching as the red swirled with the pure milkiness of the water. I remember placing both hands, gently, on the brim of the water. Then pushing down. Hard. Hearing the water swoosh and mix. The bath turning salmon.

I caught sight of myself in the mirror. I looked dreadful, my skin pale and waxy. I could feel the wetness dripping down my inner thighs. Locking myself in the cubicle I stole a glance.

I always thought I wanted a child. That he would change once there was a baby present. That he would be so proud and happy. I would have finally given him what he had always wanted. But I realise now, he never wanted a child, that was only an excuse to control his dominance and power over me. So I didn't feel sad, instead I felt relieved. Just imagine what life would've been like for the baby.

Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry. I repeated this over and over, like a mantra. Willing myself to stop overthinking.

A small stream of blood covered my legs. As red as the cherries in Lana's pie.

I couldn't tell her. Not here. Not yet. I already felt like one of those brown paper packages. With black print on the front. FRAGILE. HANDLE WITH CARE.

I felt as though I was being suffocated. By the choices and opportunities life threw at me. Opportunities that I simply could not take and decide upon.

People talk about the fruits of life. I imagine them to go by the richness and sweetness. For example a watermelon although sweet is bland. I think the richest fruit life had to offer me was Lana.

I imagine her to be a... cherry.

If Lana is a cherry then he was a pear. To me pears are very temperamental, they can either be too soft or too hard and on the one rare occasion they'll be perfectly ripe. Sweet juices dripping from your lips as your stomach growls in appreciation. But pears can sour and sicken you easily.

With cherries you can't get enough. Just the feeling of biting through the skin to hear the pop as it bursts in your mouth is addictive. The sticky redness covering your teeth. Forever staining your fingers and mouth.

I snap myself back into reality. Sitting in the filthy toilets, looking at myself in the cracked gummy mirror. It was time to go.

Lana was leaning on her car. Waiting patiently. I pushed through a group of people, struggling to get to her. When someone grabbed me. Twisting my arm.

No. Not again.