Broken Bonds

Chapter 6: Green

I'm lying to myself. I'm telling myself that I'm fine, that he deserves to be happy with someone, even if that someone isn't me.

The cherry pie is gone. I left it on the kitchen counter as usual, but something is different this time. The crust is still there, my favorite part, the part he hates.

His truck is still gone and it's morning now. I look to make sure I'm alone before shoving the crusts into my mouth. I can't help myself. I swallow before I can taste it and go on with my day as if it never happened.

I make my way to the clinic to meet with Senna. Her baby boy is doing wonderful and I rush her out as soon as I'm done. A few people come by with minor issues and when lunchtime rolls around I head out.

I'm grabbing the keys to the Camry when I hear the old engine outside. The truck is back.

I don't stop to think as I continue to head to my car. He's looking at me. I can feel his eyes. The wind blows. I can smell a female with him and as much as I try to keep my vision to the ground I can't hold back.

Eyes look up. Eyes look to the right. Eyes see a gorgeous blonde clinging to his arm. Her dress is green, the color of my eyes.

I can feel my nearly empty stomach churn at the sight and before I know it my head is in the bushes. I'm puking up everything I've had today, including the crusts.

No one assists me, but I hear the girl gasp. I ignore the stares as I wipe my mouth with my coat sleeve. I'm still dry-heaving as I finish the short walk to my car and slam the door before driving off.

---

I'm at the field, but I don't drive into the perfectly cut pathway that has now been imprinted into it. I park to the side of the road. I get out and walk in. I stop when I make it to the end of the path and take a deep breath.

I can still smell them. I smell the scent of booze, I smell the scent of sex. I try to ignore this as I lay on my back against the crushed flowers. I pay no mind to the bugs that could be swarming beneath me.

I just lay there and try to lie to myself some more. I pretend her scent is mine, I pretend he cares about me still, I pretend it's night and we are looking at the stars and that we still love one another.

I imagine that the tragedy never occurred, that we are mates now, that I was never raped.

I imagine me wearing his favorite green dress, the one he bought for me. It's my favorite dress. It's my only dress. I don't let myself cry.

An hour goes by and when I finally decide to leave, my eyes are still dry and I decide to go to town. I don't have any expecting mothers scheduled this evening, so I can do this.

I'm in a shop and I'm looking at the dresses. I decide to buy one. It's black, my new color.

I make my way home. I don't stop for food. I don't feel like I could eat right now and keep it down. I'm still sick.

The truck is gone again. I pay it no mind as I hang my new purchase in the closet. It's beside my green dress, the one I haven't worn in over three years. It probably wouldn't fit me now anyway.

I don't go to dinner with the pack still. Instead I opt for a bath. I soak my sore muscles. My ribs are almost fully healed. I'm not sure how much time has passed since that night.

I'm smoking, relaxing, trying to curb the green sickness that is clutching onto me when I hear it.

The engine.

The creaky truck door slams, the front door opens. He's in the clinic. I hear him walking around, coming up the stairs.

Why is he coming up here? I don't bother to cover myself. The water is thick with bubbles, he won't see a thing.

My bedroom door opens, his steps echo as he makes his way to the sheet I use as a divider. It's pulled back slowly and I lift my dirty habit to my lips to take a long drag.

"Trix?"

I exhale the thick smoke. Open my eyes to stare at him.

"What are you doing here?"

"You're smoking?" I look up to his eyes, silver and wavering with confusion.

I don't answer as I inhale again, exhale again. I use it as a shield. I don't want to smell that woman anymore. Her scent is nauseating to me. I've smelled it enough for the day.

"Leave." He doesn't and my cigerette is suddenly gone.

"You were sick earlier. I came to check up on you." He's smashing it out in my jewelry dish, already littered with an endless mountain of ends.

"I'm fine and I want you to go." I'm lying again. I don't want him to go. I want him to stay. I want him to forgive me, to hold me.

I hope he doesn't listen this time, but he does and I try not to puke as my sickness returns full force.