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Week
By Hopelessly Devoted666
Monday, she dropped by. Her pretty face is smeared with mascara, her red hair in tangles and unkempt. Her outfit is less than desired; full of wrinkles and stained. She looks at me, hopeless eyes staring deep into mine. I make way for her to enter. She steps in, tentative at first, and then launches herself onto the black leather couch. I close the door and make myself comfortable on the matching loveseat.
She doesn't speak. Instead, she hugs the decorative pillow close to her chest, hugging it as if it were the only thing saving her from drowning: drowning from her problems, her life, her love, and her fears. She looks up at me again, a small, trembling smile gracing her painted red lips.
"Hi," she says in her childish voice. I wonder sometimes if she'll ever grow up, but I know she has. She was forced to grow up when she was merely fourteen. There was no one she could lean on, only herself to support. Alone, that's how she feels.
"Hello," I respond back. I watch as she kicks off her tattered sneakers. I remind myself to buy her a new pair. It's the least I can do.
She rubs her cheek against the smooth pillow, but immediately stops and looks up. "I'm so sorry," she apologizes, looking now at the stain she has caused. "I forgot I still have my stage makeup on." She sniffs and tries to wipe the white substance off the equally white pillow.
"It's fine," I say. And it is. I didn't care about the pillow. I cared more for what she was going through. "Would you like some coffee, tea perhaps?" I know she will decline. She always does. I accept her answer and we continue our mute silence.
She plays with a lock of her hair, staring at the strands, trying to find fault in them. She has beautiful hair, long and gorgeous. It was once her pride and joy. Now she eyes it as if it were killing her. "I shouldn't be here," she says suddenly. She lets the strands fall down again to her waist. She jumps off the couch and bolts towards the door.
I'm quicker. I block the door with my body and frown. "You're staying," I say. "You know you're always welcomed here."
She stares helplessly at me, unsure of what to do next. Something catches her attention. I look too. It's the framed picture of my family, hanging innocently against the wall.
"You're all so happy," she says breathlessly, reaching out to touch the glass. I stop her. I didn't want to clean it later because of finger marks. She knows this and laughs.
"Sorry," she says meekly.
"Sit," I say instead. She does. Slowly, she makes herself comfortable on the same couch, hugging the pillow once again.
"Now talk," I say to her, folding my arms. I'm still by the door, guarding it with my life.
She sighs. "There's nothing much to talk about, really." She draws circular patterns on the carpet with her foot.
Something was troubling her mind and I knew it.
"Come on," I say to her calmly. "You can tell me."
She bites her lip, a nervous action she's had since she was little. "Can I use your bathroom first?" she says instead.
I sigh. She's only prolonging things. "Yes. Down the hall to your left."
She nods and stands up. She throws the pillow back to its rightful place before entering the bathroom.
I wait, and wait, and wait. I check my watch. It's been five minutes. I hear the faucet running. What's taking her so long? In the meantime, I make myself comfortable on the loveseat.
She comes out half an hour later, looking sheepish. Her face is clear from all the makeup, revealing her tanned skin and tired eyes. Dark shadows cover just under her long lashes. She hasn't been sleeping. Her hair is soaking wet, water droplets landing on the polished wooden floor. She's swathed in my bathrobe, her hands idly playing with the ends of the sash. "I'm sorry," she says again. "I'm really sorry. I just couldn't stand feeling..." she trails off, tears forming at the edge of her eyes.
"It's fine. You can borrow some of my clothes," I offer. She nods and follows me as I lead her into the master bedroom. I switch on the light and head for my closet.
"I envy you," she says wistfully, staring at my room. Guilt rips through my heart, although I don't know why.
She sits at the edge of the bed, touching the smooth silk of the bed linens while I put together an outfit for her.
She graciously accepts the garments and changes into them. I wait for her outside my room and in the hall. She comes out soon enough, clad in a simple black t-shirt and a pair of slightly baggy jeans. She was taller compared to me.
"I should really get going," she says as she notices the time. I too stare at the evil clock, glaring because it ruined my plans. I needed to know what she was thinking.
"Another time then," I say, hoping she'd get the hint. I still had to make dinner before they got home.
She nods and plasters on a fake smile. "Thank you," she says. She looks longingly at the picture by the door before she leaves.
"What of your clothes?" I call out, but it's already too late. The door slams shut. She's left once again.
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Tuesday rolls on by.
I hold her garments in my hands, stain free from the blood and face paint. She's back to sitting on the couch. She smiles in thanks as she accepts her clothes back. She's still wearing the clothes I gave her.
"No work today?" I ask, noticing the lack of theatre makeup.
Her happy facade crumbles. Tears begin to spill down her cheeks. Emotional cuts, barely healed, open once again, the pain ripping at her. Something bad has happened, and it was related to her job.
"What's wrong?" I ask as I hugged the sobbing figure tightly, rocking her back and forth in my sad attempt to comfort her.
"Everything," she hiccups, resting the side of her head against my shoulder. "I'm sorry," she says after awhile.
She transforms back to the composed girl with the sad eyes once again. "I should be leaving." I let her go, knowing she needed time alone. It was the shortest visit yet.
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She never comes by on Wednesday.
Wednesday was the day when he would stay home. He was in the kitchen as of now, preparing lunch for the two of us. I check the clock anyway. Twelve o'clock. Every day other than Wednesday and the weekend, she'd show up in my apartment around this time.
Surprise didn't cover it when I hear the doorbell and see her there.
"Hi," she says, as is her custom greeting. Yet there's something not right about her, something unusual. "I--," she begins, but she stops and stares in horror at me. No, not at me, at him.
"It's so good to see you," I hear him say.
I turn around and face him. "Lunch is ready I take it? Hopefully you've made enough for our guest?"
He nods and I turn around again. "I wasn't expecting you."
"I'm sorry," she says and runs away. I don't bother running after her. He would be suspicious if I do so.
"What was that about?" he asks, his dark blue eyes glittering with curiosity.
"Nothing," I say. He shrugs and goes back into the kitchen. Just as I'm about to close the door, I look down and see a small trail of blood. There was a small puddle just where she once stood. "Oh dear..." I say. I don't know what to do. Grabbing several sheets of paper towels, I begin cleaning up the blood. Good as new. It was as if she never even was there.
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Thursday was the day I decided on getting answers.
Address book in hand, I venture outside my usual spooks, entering the shoddier side of the city. I divert my focus from the homeless men sitting on the sidewalks and the barely clothed children playing their games... It was so hard to imagine a girl like her living here. She may have dressed the part, but she was only an actress. She didn't belong here. No, not her. She was going to be a movie star someday, a model even. What happened to make her stuck in the slums?
The door remains open to her apartment. I cautiously enter, noticing the strange smell in the air and the dankness of the apartment. It's so dark! Heavy velvet sheets cover the few windows she had, blocking any sunlight from entering the room. She used to be such a happy person. Why does she want to be within the shadows?
"Hello?" I call out. Subconsciously, I clutch at my purse, as if someone was going to rob me. I walk through the small hallway, eyeing the barely furnished rooms. I shake my head in disgust at the poor state of things. Even when she was younger, she could never seem to keep her room neat. Her mother always had to do it, God rest her soul.
I hear soft sobbing in one of the back rooms. It's hard to see. I attempt to turn on the lights, but it doesn't turn on. She didn't have power in her apartment.
"Hello?" I repeat, walking closer to the noise. I hear the shuffling of feet. The sobs were growing louder. There was someone else here. I could distinctly hear a low, gruff voice, whispering harsh things to her.
I push open the door, not really knowing what to expect. A huge body shoves into me, running out the door and out of her life. What was she doing with that guy anyway? I let the matter go. She needed me.
"Hello?" I walk closer to the shaking form. She's in the fetus position, hands over her knees, head bent down, tears streaming down her makeup smeared cheeks. I look down at her bare form, noticing the scars and cuts throughout her body, mostly her arms and legs.
"What have you been doing to yourself?" I say in disbelief. I'm scared to touch her. She looks so delicate, like a flawed glass figurine. "You poor dear. Are you alright?" I ask. She shakes her head. No, of course not. How can she be?
"Come on," I say. "I'm taking you home."
She looks up at me, her eyes dead to the world. "I don't have a home. I don't have a family. I don't have a job. I don't have the love and affection you have. I have nothing. I have nothing..." she whispers this, fresh tears springing from her eyes. She begins to laugh, softly at first, then becoming louder in pitch. She's gone mad.
"They fired me. Or maybe I quit. I couldn't stand it any longer," she admits. I attempt to cover her with a moth-eaten blanket but she stops me from doing so. "They were never going to make me the star of the show. No matter what I did or what they forced me to do with them... I never was good enough."
She looks at the cracked mirror hanging on the wall. I look as well, staring at the two of us. We were the perfect pair, the perfect example of the good life and bad: one light haired, the other dark, the other happy, the other bordering on suicide.
"And then he comes. He's always killing me inside." She looks up at the ceiling, dashing away her tears with her hand.
"Who is he?" I ask. "We can get him arrested. He shouldn't be doing this to you if you're unwilling."
She laughs. "You wouldn't want me to do that," she says, a knowing look behind her eyes. She looks at me in amusement. "You definitely wouldn't want me to do that."
She knows I'm confused. She laughs some more. "You poor dear," she says, copying my words from earlier. I slap her. I don't know why, but I do. The way she's looking at me... I had to get out. This place is bad for me, bad for her too. We both had to get out. Yet the way she's laughing...
I leave, her insane laughs following me out the door.
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Friday rears its ugly head.
She shows up too. I let her in, even if I'm slightly upset with her. She gives me a friendly hug and her now usual, fake smile.
"I'm sorry," she says. "About yesterday I mean." She stares out the window, biting her lower lip nervously.
"You scared me," I say. "Please, move out of that place. I got bad vibes from there."
She turns towards me and laughs. "Don't be silly. That's where I live. It's the only place I can afford."
I bite my tongue. I was about to offer her to stay here, but I knew that wasn't possible. I had my life. She had hers.
"So," she says. She's sitting on the couch once again. "About what you saw yesterday..."
"Forget it," I say. "I don't want to know."
She nods. "I wish I can forget it too. I wish I can forget about everything."
"Even me?" I say mockingly. I was joking with her. She didn't seem to realize this.
"Oh no, not you! I can never forget you. You're a true friend." She grins.
I smile in turn.
"Me on the other hand. I've been a terrible friend."
"Don't say that," I say. "You're a good friend."
She shakes her head. "I'm not and you know it. I'm a mess. My life's a mess."
I wince. I know she's telling the truth.
"I don't think I should visit you anymore. I'm only tarnishing your perfect life."
I frown.
"You have such an adorable daughter. And your husband... I'm sure he loves you too."
There was something about the way she said that... I stare at her, trying to figure her out.
"Just... just don't hate me Raven."
Don't hate her? Why would I hate her?
"And I know I keep saying this but, I'm sorry. I really am sorry. I say it every day, as if I'm trying to repent for my sins. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She's crying now, her hands covering her eyes. She always cries.
"It's okay," I try to soothe her, patting her shoulder lightly. "It's okay." But would it really be okay?
You've dyed your hair," I say, changing the topic. It was black, although it had tints of purple in it. "I like it."
She laughs. "I like to play pretend."
I don't ask further on what she means. I have a feeling that I already know.
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Saturday now, and I'm worried.
My daughter sits on the stool by the kitchen counter, watching her daily morning cartoons. She chews on her cereal while I fret. I can't eat anything. A phone is in my hands. I will it to ring, to hear his voice. Where was he? He never returned home last night. I had to wait twenty-four hours until I could file a missing person's report. Why did it have to be that long?
"Mommy?" my daughter asks out of the blue.
I focus my attention on my precious seven-year-old. "Yes, honey?" Hopefully she wouldn't ask the question I was dreading.
She does though. "Where's Daddy?"
"I..." I am at a loss for words. "I'm sure he's out shopping for groceries. We're out of milk, now that you've finished most of it up."
My daughter giggles. "I like cereal," she states. "With lotsa milk."
I nod and smile. I kiss her forehead. She has her hair, long and red, pulled up in a ponytail. She really was her daughter through and through. Maybe it's her second chance in life, through her biological daughter. Her eyes though, were not her emerald. They were her father's eyes. My husband's eyes. They were blue.
She didn't love my husband, did she? She did it as a favor to me since I couldn't have children... Was there more to it?
I dial her number. Like her electricity, her phone line doesn't work. Disconnected. Just like she was with the rest of the world. "Come on honey," I say. "I'm going to go somewhere really fast. I want you to behave for Ms. Flounders next door. Alright?"
She nods and pouts.
I call up Ms. Flounders and ask her to baby-sit for a short while. Like always, she agrees. I drop my baby off and head over to her apartment. I needed to talk to her, to figure her out. Maybe she even knew where my husband was.
I take the cab this time. The ride is shorter than last, and within minutes, I arrive at her dilapidated apartment building. Like before, her door is open. I hear nothing. No sobs, no men's voices. Nothing.
"Hello?" My voice echoes throughout the walls. Still nothing.
I go back to where I last found her. Bingo. I faintly see she her naked body, but this time, there's a man beside her. They both looked to be sleeping. This was my chance to report him. I grab my phone and dial 911. I walk closer to the couple. I gasp. I wasn't expecting him, although I did have a feeling. I hang up my phone.
Blood.
There was blood all around them. Why didn't I notice before? I stare in horror at the two of them. He had his arm around her waist. He would do that to me too when we were sleeping. I crouch down and reach out for his arm, trying to find a pulse. I look at my friend now. She's dead. Her eyes are wide open, glassy. She has a knife in her hand, embedded deep into her heart. They're both gone.
I could feel the tears pricking at my eyes. She would always cry and I would be the one watching her. I was the silent spectator. Looks like things are reversed now.
I notice a white piece of paper lying close by her. I pick it up. It read:
I wanted your life. I wanted your husband. I wanted Richard. He wanted me, but not in the way he wanted you. I wanted him to love me, yet he only loves you and our daughter. I watch you Raven, and I can't help but feel jealous. You have the perfect life, Raven. I envy you. I see that picture with them in it: with my lover and my daughter. You stand in the middle of the two of them, your hands on my daughter's shoulders. And my lover, he has his arm wrapped around your waist. You all looked so happy... without me in the picture. I should've been in that picture, not you. You're the perfect family now. Why couldn't I have that life, Rae? Why did you have to steal him from me? I loved him, but I loved you too. You were my best friend, Raven. I'm sorry for what I've done. I couldn't live this lie no longer. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please Rae, find it in your heart to forgive me... and forgive him for our adultery. Kori
I broke down in sobs; staring at the two people I loved the most. Sitting on the disgusting floor, I watch. I watch their faces; Richard forever frozen in horror, Kori's full of regret. I knew what I had to do, but didn't have the heart to do it yet. My phone sits in the palm of my hand. The numbers 911 flash on my screen. All I had to do was push the green button to send in the call. But I needed more time. I needed more time alone with the people I loved.
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What could possibly be said for Sunday?
Sunday is the day of rest, and for my betraying husband and friend, it would be their eternal rest. As for my daughter, she knows her daddy's gone. She never knew about Kori.
Maybe one day I'll tell her... maybe.