I'm fine. What was there has faded already. Painted over, locked away, business as usual.
Someone came, someone I thought I knew, but turned out to be something else completely. He felt entitled. I'm fine. I just wish I had hit him. Hard.
The water dripping from her hair painted her robe a darker shade of blue. Circles of indigo on the light blue fabric. Some of the circles morphed together and formed patterns. Like those tests where you're supposed to see patterns in ink blobs. Margaret didn't want to look for any patterns, though, didn't want to think about what the patterns she saw might say about her. She just watched the drops spread. She should dry her hair, it was gonna look a fright in the morning. Change into her pajamas, go to bed, but instead she just sat there, watching the drops.
Her door was locked, she had checked over and over. Had even looked in her closet and under her bed. She was alone. Just her, no one could grab her, force her down.
There were marks on her upper arms and her hip. Marks left from grabbing fingers. Just faint marks now, but maybe by morning they would turn into bruises. She couldn't see them, but she could feel them pulsate, like boils. Disgusting things that didn't belong on her body.
She wanted another shower. Long, scolding, cleansing, but she hadn't been able to stay in there for very long the first time. Even with Frank standing guard outside it had felt unsafe. Exposed. Another shower wouldn't help anyway, it was inside of her, under her skin.
Why hadn't he stopped? She had yelled no, but he hadn't stopped. Why hadn't she punched him, she had just flailed around like some damsel in distress. He was supposed to be her friend, acquaintance anyway, he wasn't supposed to be a threat.
She wiped her eyes. Her fault. She had invited him, talked to him, smiled at him. She should have let things be, just let Pierce and McIntyre play whatever game it was they were playing; she should have minded her own business.
Dark stains on her robe.
She missed Frank a little, maybe she shouldn't have sent him away. But his doting had driven her insane, his 'my poor, poor darling, what did that man do to you'? Like she was a puppy someone had kicked. She didn't want to be Frank's darling now, not anyone's. Didn't want to be seen by anyone. She wanted to go back in time, to a time when things were easy, when there were no red marks on her skin. She wanted to be held but couldn't stand the thought of anyone touching her.
She leaned her head back, trying to force back tears, make the lump in her throat go away. She didn't want to cry anymore, tears had no use except to expose disgusting, snotty shortcomings.
It didn't go away, though, nothing ever went away. You just pushed it down, buried it under work and routines, hoped it would drown with the help of a secret little flask in your nightstand. Or the bottle in your footlocker. Sad thing was, things you wanted to drown usually knew how to swim.
Even sadder was that she was getting so good at it. To push down. Drown. Deny. Sometimes the true version of what happened and the happy version she had created blended together, and it was hard to tell which memory was the real one. And then the real one came bobbing to the surface when she least expected it.
She stared straight ahead again, pulled her knees up to her chest.
A tiny bit of green helped hide red marks. She wished she didn't know that, but in her makeup-bag was a green eyeshadow for these occasions. Some foundation over it, some powder, and you were good to go. Like nothing ever happened, at least if you watched from a distance. So, the trick was to keep moving, for you have places to be, work to do, and boys will be boys and nothing would ever change, even when the boys weren't boys anymore. The way of the world. No use in trying to change anything, in telling anyone. Demand some sort of justice. What point had it ever been before and what point would it be now. Blake, Pierce, and McIntyre were probably having a drink with Phil right now, slapping his shoulder, congratulation each other on being the rulers of all of creation. Everything was up for grabs for the likes of them, anyone was up for grabs. The whole world was nothing but a forest of grabbing hands, and sometimes you got caught in the undergrowth.
A knock at the door.
Margaret jumped, and in a second her insides turned to ice. She dried her eyes frantically, pressed her back up against the wall. The stupid non-existent wall that offered absolutely no protection at all.
"Who…" Her voice was nothing but a whisper. A whimper.
"Who…" She swallowed hard, tried to bring every ounce of Major Houlihan to the surface, everything that was Margaret, weak and pathetic, could just drown.
"Who is it?" Finally, her voice decided to cooperate, sound like a person and not a wounded puppy.
"It's just me, Major. It's Kellye."
Nurse Kellye. What did she want? She never came knocking, none of the nurses did. Please, don't let there be an emergency. Margaret felt panic rise when she thought about leaving her tent, to work, to perform. She tried to steady her voice once again, and it only worked a little.
"What is it, Lieutenant?"
"I just wanted to see if you were okay, Major. I heard the whole commotion earlier, with Doctor Sherman, and I understand that he… well…"
There was a pause and Margaret could hear Kellye's feet shuffle in the gravel.
"I just wanted to ask if you need anything, Major."
Margaret felt tears well up again. Kellye's voice sounded so kind, like balm on the throbbing marks, like a hug from a friend.
"I can get you something to eat", Kellye continued. "Or I can get you a cup of tea. I have this peppermint tea I got sent from home, it's really nice. I can fix you some if you'd like."
Margaret pressed her hands over her mouth, trying to hold back a sob. Yes, she would love some peppermint tea. She wanted to wrap her hands around a hot mug, the scent of mint would be clean. Unspoiled.
But accepting the offer would mean opening the door, to look at Kellye and have her look back. Major Houlihan was not in place yet, there was only the sad, scared woman with red marks on her skin, afraid of shadows and the darkness in her closet. No one could see that pathetic excuse for a human being. No one would ever want to. She pinched the skin of her upper arm hard, what was another mark anyway, and ordered herself to pull it together.
"Thank you, Lieutenant, but I'm fine." She sounded like something resembling a normal person, at least if you weren't listening too closely.
"Oh, okay. It's no trouble, though."
"I…" She swallowed hard and pinched again. "There is absolutely nothing wrong with me, Lieutenant. It's late and I would appreciate some privacy."
That came out so hard, she didn't mean it. She wanted to tell Kellye how sweet she was, how much she appreciated the gesture, why could only hard, mean words ever leave her mouth? Somewhere from the back of her head came her father's voice. 'Don't show weakness, Margaret, they will never respect you if you do.' Yes, that needed to be her guideline, not the thought of tea and sympathy. She didn't need pity from anyone. Because nothing was wrong.
"Okay, Major. Good night then."
"Thank you," Margaret whispered as Kellye's steps faded and the night got quiet again.
She took a deep breath, suddenly so very aware of how fast her heart was beating. She could do something nice for Kellye in the morning. Maybe change the duty roster and put Kellye on the good shifts for the next couple of weeks. Yes, that was good actually, she could do that right now. Go over the duty roster. Then she could brush her hair, change into her pajamas, and go to sleep.
Major Houlihan would emerge in the morning, because Major Houlihan was strong. Not sobbing and shivering on a bed. She would put on a long-sleeved sweater and forget about red marks and grabbing hands.
Tonight was just another bad one, sinking deep into the ocean. Major Houlihan would be fine, she has skin made of iron, it would be like nothing had ever happened.
Everything would be just fine.