Norma

First You Dream, Then You Die | R.E.M. -- Everybody Hurts

   Norma padded into her room. The door creaked as she shut it, sending chills down her spine at the eerie noise. Guess I'm not sleeping tonight, she told herself.

   The woman's deft fingers grabbed the band that was holding her hair up and pulled it out, releasing her shoulder-length blonde locks. She dropped the band to the floor dramatically. Norma pulled her flannel shirt over her head, revealing a lacey, black bra. Her fingers slid carefully under the waistband of her pants as she pulled them off, wincing. She glanced at her bandaged hand, watching as blood flowed through the gauze.

   Norma bit down hard on her lip to keep from screaming.

   Everytime she looked at it, his stocky, dangerous figure was slinking towards her, brandishing that ugly knife. Everytime blood seeped through that wound, she could remember his stinging remark, "You know you liked it." Even now, tears threatened to erupt from her eyes, yet she fought them off.

   Norma crawled into the shower, shaking as the cold water hit her breasts. She slunk to the floor, her head resting on her knees as she brought them to her chest, crying.

   She wasn't stupid. Norma knew that her brother was in the other room, and that the walls were so thin that he could probably hear her, yet she couldn't help the ugly cries that dug their way out of her hoarse throat. Her face was etched with terror and disgust as she stared down at her naked body, wishing she could wipe these fresh memories from her brain.

   The longer she sat, the stronger her urges grew. She grabbed a bar of soap and a rag. Once it was considerably wet and sudsy, she let it glide across her skin.

   Norma scrubbed. It didn't feel good. It didn't even feel right. She scrubbed harder. The water began increasingly hot as she turned the knob, letting it scald her pale, sensitive skin. Her skin broke and her hand bled as she bit down on it to keep from screaming.

   Norma sat under the hot water and scrubbed for an hour.

   So nasty. Why do I feel so nasty?

   You know why. You liked it.

   She slipped under the water again. This time, she wasn't crying, but she still felt tainted from all that had transpired earlier that night.

   Norma wasn't in the shower for long when she heard footsteps. Her breathing accelerated as she poked her head out from behind the cheap shower curtain, only to find a broken Norman standing at the threshold of the door, crying.

   "Norman, Honey, what's the matter?" she asked, although she feared she already knew.

   He sobbed. "I just-- can't stop thinking about it, Mother. I should've been here. I'm-- I'm sorry that I wasn't here, I really just wanted to make friends and it made me so angry when you said no...."

   "Norman, this isn't your fault. I should be able to take care of myself, like I always have," it came out a little harsher than she meant, and it felt as though she were trying to convince herself of this fact.

   "He shouldn't have been able to do this to you. I made it so easy."

   "Norman, Keith Summers was a jerk. If he could do this to me, then he could do it to anyone else. You shouldn't beat yourself up about it; he deserved to die," her voice broke even as she said it.

   In her entire life, Norma had obviously never killed anyone. If she was being honest, she never meant to kill Keith Summers. It just came all too naturally, like she was finishing what he had started, and there was a certain peace about knowing that her rapist was certainly dead and gone.

   It didn't make her truly guiltless, though.

   Norma eventually grabbed a towel from the stack and wrapped it around herself, stepping out of the shower carefully. Norman was sitting on the toilet, his hands in his lap, crying.

   Tears fell from her usually jaded face. She wrapped her arms around him, kissing his forehead and holding him as tightly as she could. They stayed there, caught in each other's embrace, letting the hurt melt from their bodies. 

   Norman's eyes drifted to the scar on his mother's leg.

   "Mother-- what happened to your leg?"

   "Hm?" she asked, meeting his gaze. "Oh, that. I, uh...I did that when I was a kid. Hot chocolate. I spilt it all down my leg, and it was-- it was really bad."

   Norma knew she was a terrible liar. Still, Norman must have been too tired to notice, for he didn't question her claims any further. "C'mon, Honey, why don't we get you to bed? It's a big day tomorrow, you have school...I don't want you to be too tired."

   "Mother, I'm worried," he fretted. "I'm worried that I won't be able to keep this a secret for very long," her expression changed so fast that he hardly had time to finish.

   "Norman, you cannot tell anyone what happened here!" Her eyes were wild and startled, and she pulled away from him, stomping out of the bathroom. "If you tell anyone about this, they'll lock me up, and heaven knows what they'd do to you. Even if I did get out of this, it would put a bad name on the business-- no, Norman. We can't tell anyone."

   He sighed. "Maybe, if we just told them what happened..."

   "Who do you think they'd believe, Norman? It's a small town. Word will get around fast here, and if it does--" she paused. Her mind couldn't bear the humiliation it would bring on her, the days that she would have to almost re-live the turmoil she had been put through tonight. There would be talk about it at the school; goodness knows if Norman would ever make any friends. And then there was Sam. If anyone even thought that Norma was guilty of her husband's death....there'd be no escaping this, then.

   "I'm sorry, Norman," she told him, tucking him into bed. "I'm sorry, we just can't."

   His hand took hers as they said goodnight. Norma stalked off to her room, imagining the worst possible outcomes for this new decision she had made.