Reaping of the Wives

FLEW AWAY

I laid on my back and stared at the window. It was my favorite thing in my room.

The sun was a bright yellow and a pretty painted bunting was mid-flight from a nearby tree. It was originally a sparrow, but I had always thought painted buntings were the prettiest of all the birds. So when Noah showed up with blue paint during his visit yesterday, I covered the speckled brown with an array of color. The belly was a vibrant red, the wings were yellow at the base and faded to green. Its royal blue head completed the look and made me feel a low simmer of joy. I dotted blue throughout the tiny flowers that grew along the baseboard. There were 97, and each one indicated every day I'd been away from home. Mixing it with black, I accentuated the full moon that hung high in the opposite corner of the wall, giving it richer craters and depth.

From the outside looking in, my room never changed. It was the same pristine white as it'd always been, but from the inside looking out, the entire wall was my canvas. I painted all the things I wished I could see. I used every color on the spectrum to battle the stark white I had been drowning in. The sights of it settled my anxious heart. Especially the eternally bright moon, and that bird. Every morning I looked upon it and imagined I had its wings.

I broke free every dawn, and flew home.

Every time Caleb walked past my door, he would smirk because all he saw was the same helpless, subdued victim in the same blank room. He had no idea the satisfaction that rose within me when I looked back at his serpentine face surrounded by a wall full of brilliant colors. It was a silent fuck you that I drew strength from.

The telltale sound of footsteps and the unlocking of doors made me sit up in bed. I swung my feet over the edge and wiped the sweat that dripped down the side of my face. Though it was the beginnings of September, we were suffering from a long streak of Indian summer days. I looked forward to cooler weather, but the thought of it also brought me profound sadness. It would indicate an entire season spent hidden away here.

Noah walked in and swiftly shut the door behind him. He was in a plain white t-shirt and grey sweatpants; his typical night-time visit apparel. He strode over, sitting beside me on the bed with his body angling my direction, keeping his hands behind his back.

"I have a gift for you," he whispered, excitement sparkling in his bright blue eyes.

My head tilted to the side in curiosity. It was only within the last month that he began bringing me craft supplies because I had talked about how much I missed being able to paint my worries away. All we ever did was talk. I had learned quickly to hold my tongue in the presence of his family, and in return, Noah would come to my room and we would talk. He'd do his best to distract me from the trauma occurring around us, and I would allow him to pull me in. To take me away from the things that happened during the day that kept me up at night.

Even still, gifts as he called them, were sparse and never two days in a row. As kind as Noah was, he still had a tainted aura about him that he couldn't quite cleanse himself of. It was clear that part of him wanted me happy, but the bigger part of him wanted me here. Despite his 'good deeds', he was still keeping up appearances with his family and as the weeks turned into months, I was unsure if they are just appearances or if he truly was just like them.

He pulled one hand around front, and in it was a small pocket Bible. I glanced at it and swallowed thickly before getting the nerve to give him what I hoped was an appreciative smile. I reached out to take it when he quickly pulled it back and started laughing.

"I'm kidding," he chuckled with a shake of his head. "You should've seen your face. That definitely wasn't a convincing smile."

A breath of relief passed through my lips. "Sorry," I looked away. "You know that I.. I just.."