Unspoken

Chapter Three: Aubrey

I stand in the hot shower for longer than necessary. I am clean, my skin is shiny and the spaces in between my toes are sparkling.

Somehow, when I leave the shower, everything starts again and I'm not ready for it to start. I'd like to stay in this moment forever, but at some point you have to accept the fact that nothing is that safe.

I look around in the fog for something that's not there while my fingers tangle in my wet hair, then down my shoulders, lifting slightly over each scar until they reach each other and hold close.

I pull back the white curtain to grab my towel, and I wrap it around every part of skin it will allow without tearing.

My wet feet slap against the Italian tile and send chills up my entire body, making me wrap the towel harder, struggling to breathe in the hot steam.

I make my way over to the vanity as slow as I can, not wanting to rush this moment. It's the calm before the storm, the quiet before the madness. I grip the marble, refusing to look at myself in the mirror.

I blink rapidly, unable to breathe.

I wipe away at the fog clinging to the cold surface, and when I see myself in the reflection, I almost turn away, but I don't. I stare at the chandelier in the reflection as it shimmers in the dim light coming in from the window, turning the room a light pink, the steam full of cotton candy sugar.

And for now, that's enough.

My jeans frustrate me while I try to pull them onto my body with the steam helping slow down the process and my wet hair dripping down my back, but they're on. My tank top is white, and almost see-through, so I drape a knit cardigan over my shoulders and nod at myself, trying desperately not to look for too long.

I open the double-doors from my bathroom into my room where my bed is already made from earlier this morning and a candle is lit and flickering on my freshly painted windowsill.

I sit down at my desk facing out one of the many windows, and stare out into our large front yard. It's lined with little implanted lights that are on a timer, and they have yet to turn off, so I enjoy the glow they cast on the stone paved driveway where my mom's shiny new car is sitting.

I tap my fingernails on my desk and look down at the top right drawer of it, debating whether or not to open it. My fingers naturally find their way to the handle, just as they always do, but when a knock on my door startles me, I rip my hand away from it and pretend it never happened.

"Come in," I say, trying to make my voice sound sturdy and strong even if I'm feeling the opposite.

One of the doors opens, and my mom's silky black hair falls into the room before she does, making me smile.

My mother looks like me, almost exactly like me down to the curve of our lips. She has more lines on her face from smiling and frowning for so many years. Her body curves like an hourglass, her eyes sparkle like a crystal, and her hair falls into waves just like mine.

"Hey sweetheart," Her high heels click like the sound of power as she walks further towards me, putting her manicured hands on the back of my chair and looking down at me through the reflection in the window.

I sigh, "You look nice,"

She always looks nice. It doesn't matter what she is wearing or how her makeup is done or the way her hair falls, she is perfect.

"Thank you, we have a meeting down at the Spokane office today, a company trying to merge with ours, so we have to dress up a bit,"

Her and my dad work in the same business, a thriving clothing chain that spans all across the country. Although my father deals with the money of the company and my mother deals with the merchandise, I am happy they work at the same place because they are inseparable.