Prom Night

iii. home sweet home

CH. 3

WARMTH IMMEDIATELY embraces her the moment she walks through the door of her house. It's not stifling, nor is it accompanied by anything. It just exists out of familiarity, cocooned among the sound of food sizzling and her mother's voice accompanying the music echoing off the walls, the smell of something delicious, the feel of the cold chill from outside dulling, and the absence of six prying eyes and suffocating grips freeing. Home.

"...Je me cacherai là, a te regarder, danser et souirer, et à t'écouter, chanter et puis rire..."

Maya can't help closing her eyes, letting herself bask in the absence of lingering specters. Her mother continues to sing along, and she almost lets out a sigh because finally, finally. They're gone, if only for a short amount of time.

"...laisse-moi devenir, l'ombre de ton ombre, l'ombre de ton main, l'ombre de ton chien..."

She brings herself to walk into the kitchen, finding her mother in front of the stove with her back facing her, her dark ponytail the first thing that greets Maya, the long tendrils reminding her of her own hair. She shakes the thoughts away before they get any farther, wrapping her arms around her mother's waist instead.

"Hey, mom," she presses a chaste kiss against her mother's temple, feeling her jump in fright.

"Hey!" Her mother laughs, patting Maya on the head when she places her chin on her shoulder. "When did you get here? I didn't even hear you!"

"How could you over the concert you were putting on?" She retreats from the embrace, sitting up on the counter instead and trying to ignore the faint stinging of her eyes. She can hear her mother laugh again, can see her lips moving and saying something, probably chastising her for sitting on the counter, but she can't focus on her words. All she feels is filthy, smudging everything she touches--an oil spill in the middle of the ocean, forever ruined.

"I--uh, where is--where's dad?"

Her mother stops abruptly, and it's only then that Maya realizes she had still been talking. "Oh, he's still at work. He said he'd be running a bit late today."

Maya nods, trying to avoid her mother's prying eyes, they feel too heavy to avoid, or maybe it's the reminder they bring. "Okay. Well--I-I gotta go... study..."

She goes to walk past her, but her mother grasps her forearm before she can escape, pressing a hand against her face. Maya hates the way her body immediately tenses. "Are you okay? You're not looking too good..."

"Yeah, mom. I'm fine." She squeezes her mother's hand before pushing past her to get to the stairs. The flashbacks and cooking spices hit her all at once, hurrying past the mirror in the hall she avoids at all costs and the stairs that were painful to walk on that next morning and into her room, where she wallows and cries and wraps herself in covers in hopes that no one can ever touch her again.

But it's not enough to feel safe again because then the heat of the blankets starts to feel so suffocating she starts kicking at them, trying to free her limbs and trying to see past the blurriness of her tears, and oh my God when will it end.

She runs her hands through her hair, and suddenly its harder to breathe because she realizes that their hands have been everywhere and she will never be clean again no matter what she does, and even if nobody else knows, she knows and she always will and they always will and--

"Fuck!" She tugs harshly on her hair, the same color, and texture as her mother's; the same hair they twirl and play with.

Maya can't take it anymore. Overwhelmed at the feeling of helplessness, she strides over to her vanity and takes out a pair of scissors, black and winking at her, taunting. Without a second thought, she begins to cut a jagged path through her hair, the brushing of strands against her waist disappearing as they slowly fall to the floor. When she's finished, she feels a huge weight lift as she stares at the locks of hair that strain to reach the top of her shoulders.