On The Other Side

Chapter Twelve

VIOLET

The buzzing of my phone wakes me after what seems like an endless sleep. My room is dim, the sun barely peeking in through the curtains at this hour. I begin to feel around the comforter in an attempt to find my phone, knocking it down onto the hardwood floor. Sitting up, I look at the floor to see where it landed. Instead, my eyes land on the pile of clothes on top of my laundry basket. My bloody jeans are on the very top as if reminding me that it wasn't a dream. No, it was very real. And it happened just hours ago.

"Violet, dear? Are you ready, I called to you almost two hours ago now?" My mother's voice trails up the stairs and into my room, the sudden noise makes me cringe. Despite my annoyance I throw my legs over the side of my bed, bending over to grab my phone. The brightness of the screen makes me squint, the numbers becoming blurred. As soon as my eyes refocus I can read the time. 6:34 P.M. My heart drops as I am reminded of the family supper my parents are hosting tonight which is supposed to begin at 7:00 P.M.

Harley's whining can be heard from downstairs, insisting that she wants to wear the purple dress instead on the pink. I can already hear the stress in my mother's voice as she attempts to get both her and Harley ready for supper tonight. Not wanting to stress her out any more, I push myself off of the bed and walk over my dresser. As I pull open the top drawer to grab a pair of jeans, I catch a glimpse of my face.

Why do I look different?

Something about my appearance is off yet I can't seem to tell what it is. Instead of pondering on the idea of me looking any different than I did last night, I grab a pair of jeans from the top of the pile and a shirt from my closet. As soon as my body enters the washroom attached to my bedroom it feels as if I am transferred back to last night. My body covered in bruises, fingerprints all over my thighs and the red marks around my wrist. The marks are still there, reminding me of what happened. Reminding me that he could do it again if he wanted to.

No, Violet. He won't do it, he's not near you anymore.

My attempt at reassuring myself was poor I realize as tears drip down my face, whatever was left of last night's mascara following behind. Wiping my tears, I put on the black top I had grabbed from my closet earlier. As I look at myself in the mirror, I feel disgusted and as if I've dressed too revealing. A sliver of my stomach can be seen, my jeans seem a little too tight.

Is this too revealing or am I just overthinking this all? Maybe it's not as bad as I think it is, but maybe I am right. It could be too revealing.

Walking back into my bedroom, I peel the shirt off of my body and grab a black knit sweater to replace it. The shirt that seemed too revealing hits a water bottle that was leaning against my pillow, the content of it pouring out onto my sheets. Shit. Shit. Shit. I quickly grab the water bottle and stand it up right on my nightstand just behind me. I peel back the comforter, trying to see if the water inside had made its way through the layers of my bed.

It's not real, you're at home. You're not at that house anymore. My throat begins to close in as I feel the wetness of the sheets, a scene which seems all too familiar right now. Ignore the fire radiating fire between your thighs that has just seemed to ignite, the dampness of the sheets, the bruises that seem to be more apparent now. Ignore it all Violet.

I leave the scene behind, my bed torn apart and messy. It's never been like that but I can't look at it any longer, instead I grab the knit sweater and throw it over my head and rush to put my arms through the sleeves. Rushing out of my room, my reflection looks back at me in the mirror. Black mascara stains my under eyes, concealer becoming blotching after being worn for too long.  I grab a make up wipe that was left on the dresser the night before and wipe all of the makeup off before throwing it into the trash beside the door.