White Walls

The mirror

Alvea woke up to the sound of nothing. Only the sound of her own breathing accompanied with a loud ringing. That was something that she was used to. After her treatment she would always have a little bit of a headache. She rose from her bed and slowly moved to the mirror across from the bed. The bed and the mirror were her only furniture apart from the sink. She looked in the mirror. It had been seven weeks since she dared look into the mirror. She was horrified to see what she looked like. What she saw now was not even all that bad. She saw a young woman, about nineteen maybe twenty years old. Her face seemed normal. Her green eyes were  flashy and her face was decorated with a  scar that crossed from the corner of her lip to her ear.  The scar was a parting gift from her father. 

One night he had locked Alvea and her mother in the garage. He had left the car running, but no window or door was opened. The smoke from the car was gradually filling the garage with a mist as thick and impenetrable as metal. Breathing started hurting after a while. Her mother kept screaming. Screaming for her life. "I promise I will let you do it next time." She kept yelling. Alvea didn't even know what was going on back then . She must have been nine years old. Every breath felt like sandpaper scrubbing her lungs and vocal cords. Her mother had the same problem she noticed after a while. The screams started to die away as her throat probably became sorer. Her mother moved less and less and eventually nothing happened anymore. Alvea knew that if this went on for a few more moments she would be buried in the yard by her father in the morning. 

The gas filled mist finally disappeared as her father finally opened the garage door. The sweet feeling of fresh air filling her lungs made Alvea feel as if she came back from the dead. But the relief faded away as she saw her fathers face. It was filled with rage after he saw his wife, hanging lifeless in the chair that he left her in. He hurried to her and tried to wake her up. Alvea knew she was dead. She knew that her father had left his wife to die. 

"You did this." Her father said with a steady but threatening voice. "You couldn't even help your mother in her last moment. You didn't even try."

Alvea knew that she didn't try. Maybe it was her fault. Maybe she should have tried to get herself out of the ropes that tied her to the chair. Maybe her father was right. She didn't know what to do, so she just nodded, even though tears were now silently falling down her face.

"You never listen, do you?"Her father had said. "You didn't even listen to your mothers advice. Smile. Smile. Smile." 

He faked a scary smile onto his face and put his hands on Alveas face. His fingers in the corners of her mouth. He pulled. He forced a smile. He pullen on her mouth. He pulled so hard that she could fel her lip rip. He pulled once more, extremely hard. He pulled so hard that her cheek ripped open. It didn't bleed much, but it hurt. It felt as if a bug was inside her skin biting away and eating her up. Her father untied her and left her. The bottom of her cheek hung down in a flap. She had pulled herself to the hospital where the doctor had fixed her and taken her to his white walled room. 

The mirror still reflected her face. She liked the scar now. It made her look tough. No one would want to mess with someone with such a big scar right? The bandage was still tightly wrapped around her head. She carefully started unwrapping her wound. The bandage was a little stuck to the wound, because of all the blood. When she took off the last part of the bandage the wound was open to the air. It was a big round bloody patch of dried up blood that stuck to her knotty hair. Her hair used to be the one thing she liked. It was a really dark brown, almost black. It was curly and shiny and her mother would braid it. Now, it was messy knotty and covered in dried up blood. She turned on the faucet and let the water run for a minute. When the water was cold enough she filled her hands with it and started cleaning the dried blood off of her hair. It took some time, but after a while her hair looked a little normal again. The wound was smaller than Alvea had imagined. It was less round. She turned off the faucet when something came to mind. She could fill up the sink. She could drown herself. Then the doctor would be away. The pain would be away. Maybe she would. Maybe this was her only escape. Maybe this was her only way out. No, she should try any other way first. If she still wasn't free after a week, she would.

Alveas hair was still knotty and it bothered her. She started untangling the knots in her hair. It was something that kept her busy for quite a while. The parting of each individual hair was like removing every string of a human muscle. It must be done carefully and steadily.