Bend and Break(poly)(bxb)

Mia's Break

Seven is panting now.

It's soft and breathy but so near.

It becomes the background for my dream. A windy desperate plea as I sit waiting in the snow.

It's so white and undisturbed. Behind my house, the purest thing. Something will come up from the snow or from the trees. Something will see me and take my hand. A white fox from the bedtime story I fell asleep to so many nights. My father watching over me as he read the subtle warnings. Or maybe it'll be my mother who rises from the cold ground. A white dress, black long hair, eyes, and skin like mine. An image ripped directly from the portrait on my father's desk. I've had this dream so many times.

"I'm making a mess," Seven whines and whispers.

There are bows in my hair. My father learned to put them there himself, to deep condition and detangle. The one on my right pigtail is becoming undone.

"I'm making a mess," Seven repeats.

My dream is lucid but I don't let myself wake up. I step into the snow with sparkly boots, childhood curiosity. Before the wind can blow the ribbon from my hair, I'm already walking in the direction where it will land.

"It's okay," Romero doesn't appear in my dream as he speaks lowly.

The new voice doesn't disturb the snow either. Only my own steps as the ribbon sits atop the surface. I land beside it on my knees. I remove one of my yellow gloves and let the cold nip at my fingers. When I pull the ribbon, one end gets stuck in the snow.

"Right there, right there."

If I rip it, daddy will be mad at me. My mother left me that ribbon. My father taught himself how to do my hair.

"Don't s-stop."

My feet are under the snow too. I'm pulling it with numb hands and a reddening face, but the ribbon still won't come up.

"Shh."

It's cold fingers holding the other end of the rope. Blue fingers and black nails. They claw their way up as I fall back into the snow. Black hair, slender wrists, narrow shoulders all appear one by one.

When she fully comes out, her red lipstick isn't smudged and her cigarette is still burning.

I wake up when my body starts shaking. Romero's hand is on my arm.

"You looked like you were having a nightmare." His voice is sleepy. He is.

But the sunlight breaks through the sheer curtains undisturbed. It puts honey highlights in his brown hair, specks of gold in his hazel irises.

"I wasn't." I nuzzle my face into the pillow. I can't take him right now, his hand trailing down to my waist, slipping just under the fabric of my T-shirt. "Where's Seven?" I ask, opening my eyes fully.

"Showering," Romero replies simply, raises my shirt the slightest bit higher before running over my skin with the pads of his fingers.

"He was sweating a lot last night."

"That and I gave him a handjob while you were asleep," Romero isn't looking at me but at my waist. There are two new bruises there. "Why did you just sit there and let him do this to you?"

"Yeah, blame me," I scoff. I bruise easily that's why it's there. Black and blue and broken in one place then reappearing in another. It's not that bad.

"Well, I can't blame him," Romero says. He lays flat on his back. His inhale has his chest swelling. His heavy sigh makes me want to fall back to sleep.