To Break

II

I hate Saturdays. Every week they come around and every week I'm stuck wondering

'why?'

Today is particularly bad though, as my parents are home. My mother usually works on the Saturdays but being Labour Day weekend, she gets to spend it at home. I know she also wishes she is at work today.

Then there is my father, who spends his days of freedom from teaching either fishing or at the home hardware store, buying things for his never finished garden. But because Mumma is home, he feels the need to stay home with her and envelop himself in the sadness.

Then there is me, in bed, ignoring the dim daylight filtering through my blinds and the light rain pattering on the roof so that I can spend a few more minutes under the covers. Like my parents, I am left with the emptiness that is much worse at this time of the week.

Before I get in too much of a hole I put on my cd, made specifically to take my mind off it. The mellifluous sounds of the instrumental track fill my shoebox room and I close my eyes once again.

When I reopen them it is just after lunch, according to the analogue clock hanging on my pale blue walls. There is only four hours until my friends will be here to get ready for the party; meaning four whole hours to keep myself busy.

I flick the covers off my body and sit up, taking my hair out of the two plaits that hang over my shoulders, only to redo them. It takes me a few minutes to do this though, as my dark hair has grown to my bellybutton.

Uncrossing my legs I swing them over the side of my bed to stand, only to be met with a wall a few inches from my face. At least there is room to stand on this side. I shuffle over to the door at the foot of my bed and squeeze through, closing it softly behind me.

The bathroom is my next destination and I tiptoe to the end of the hall to get there, not to disturb my parent's conversation coming from the kitchen. I automatically block out their chatter, not that there is much of it anyway.

I sigh at the reminder and push through the bathroom door. Silence is the harshest reminder of all, meaning that my silence must be deafening to my parents.

No. I can't think of this right now. I can't afford to lose my cool today.

I feel my hand on the cool metal handle, pulling it closed to secure me in the room. There is a click when it latches closed and a snap when I flick the lock.

The bathroom is bigger than my room, along with the rest of the rooms in this almost-mansion. The entirety of the floor is covered tiled in a sandy colour while the walls contrast it with a dark tile.

I move across to the marble counter and run the water in the sink, cupping my hands under the tap to splash water on my face, before drying it with the hand towel. My eyes catch the reflection in the mirror, a bit of water I missed dripping off my chin.

My green eyes are wide with dark hollows underneath them. My cheekbones are becoming more prominent as the weeks wear on and they are framed by my long, dark hair. I look for a moment too long until I have to shudder away from my appearance. Sometimes I scare myself when I look in the mirror.

At least I'm not the only one in my family who looks so run down. After I have my shower I make my way to the kitchen, my parents both sitting there mirroring me. My mother is becoming frail, as if her bones could snap at any one moment. Her expression is that of heartbreak, masked by a false smile I am becoming accustomed to. However the most dominant feature that catches my eyes is the scar that runs from the corner of her eye to her jaw, cutting across her previously unflawed face.