Clean Up
Running, falling down the stairs, He throws a glass past her head, shattering against the front door. She falls onto the ground, scathing her knees and landing on her shoulder. Turning, She sees something Evil. Kicking, she finds no footing and He grabs her ankles, dragging her across the carpet. Thrashing to get rid of His grip, no use. She’s exhausted, her muscles ache but the adrenaline kicks in, keep fighting. Yelling until she’s wheezing. “W-wait, d-d-don’t do this, I’m s-o-sorry!” Thwack.
.
She used to eat ice cream and dance on the toes of her father’s shoes. Where she’s from, small country shows in the parks surrounding their house, soft and quick, the music she loved could play forever. And around and around her father would tilt he back and forth, laughing heartily and smiling brightly. Circling, circling, flashing green leaves and yellowed lanterns fused. Spinning around until dizziness was overwhelming and the colors of the night lights would dance across her perspective. Sometimes she would throw-up after from all the ice cream she ate in one sitting.
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Shattered glass sparkles as the morning light peeks through the thick curtains and hits the faded white carpet. The living room is outdated, with dusty lamp shades, 70’s like beading and velveteen purple couches. There is brown, deep staining on the white crown molding lining the graying white walls, all from the chemicals within the cigarettes He continuously smokes. She does not have the confidence to tell Him to stop. She admires the sparking glass, as her pounding head settles against the ground, laying sprawled in her rugged, oversized shirt. Looking backwards, she imagines laying in snow instead, like she had as a child. She used to run through the snowy fields of her backyard, frolicking alongside her siblings, and falling comfortably into thick powder. She outstretches her arms as if to make a snow-angel, her elbows digging uncomfortably into the shards. Swish, swish, swish. She can feel pain, she can feel something. A sigh of relief mixed with soreness and exhaustion washes over her as she points her toes, shaking her ankles and bringing the feeling back to her lower body. She can feel something. She makes sure she can look around, its quiet? It is. He’s gone for now.
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Holding a gaze randomly, she is taken aback by the greenness of his eyes. Deep and introspective, she smiles softly towards him. He smiles widely back, immediately and continues to stare at her. She seems vulnerable as if he’s scaling her, up and down. Just frozen, she seems like she knows these eyes? Yes, he went to school with her. He’s alone and maybe she would work up the confidence to say ‘hi’. Taking a step forward, she is awoken by her dad’s voice, ready to leave the grocery store. Maybe she will she him again.
.
She sits up slowly, feeling a small tug in her neck. Reaching for her face, it feels squishy. Swelling? And blood? It feels crusty above her eyebrows. She rubs it against her shirt, picking it up like a dirty band-aid. Probably not healthy. It sticks to the corner of her eyelid. She stands up to walk, a little unsteady. Take it easy. Treading softly to the bathroom, she pushes the door, soundlessly, open. She cautiously checks her surroundings, and immediately dips her head into the sink. The water stings but she can really feel it, she can feel something. She watches the water, tinted pink, swirling down the rusted drain, and waits until the water is clear. Hmm hmm hmm, Clean up, clean up, everybody everywhere, clean up, clean up, everybody do their share…
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A cool September night is out for the first time, signaling that fall will soon turn into winter. She closes the red front door of her parents house behind her as she turns quickly, her pale blue sundress swirling around her legs. The green in his eyes seemed dark as she walked towards his car. Almost giddy, he opened the door for her and buckled her in. Her mind is reeling, as he leans in close for a kiss, is this too fast? She had never been with a boy before. The sweat pools under her armpits and becomes afraid to move the wrong way. The bruises peek out from the long sleeves. The pale blue, similar in shade to the purpling fingerprints marked around her wrists. But they are covered, trying to keep him looking in her eyes, nothing is wrong here. He pulls out a silver ring with a tied sailors knot. “A promise ring?” A promise to never hold her too tight or hit her again? A promise to never leave? The gesture of it all allowed her to make excuses. He didn’t mean it he said sorry. He had held her afterwards and promised to never do it again. He would never do it again.
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Hinging at the hips, she folds upwards and faces herself. A hollowing shell, her cheekbones peek harshly through her skin and the dark circles look almost contoured in, stark against her yellowing eyes. She reaches towards the mirror, seeing if it was just an illusion. No-no, just reality. This darkness is not comforting, it is harrowing, and not what she used to be drawn to. This is not what she was, used to looking in the mirror and be happy with the face she saw looking back, happy. This is not where she is really from.
Removing her bloodied shirt, she sees the sores that scathe her skin night and day, stretching across her bust and down her stomach. The browning bruises and the fresh blue ones are juxtaposed across her pale sides, just below her protruding ribs and sternum. A new redness seems to be appearing. Is she feeling lightheaded? Him. Evil. He. Did. This. To. Me. I. Let. Him. Evil. Do. This. To. Me. She reaches weakly, turning the handle past where a shower curtain should hang, and stepped into the dusty bath. She lets the water boil, steaming. She feels it burn, she can feel something. Takes the soap bar and scrubs harshly, savagely, until her skin feels “clean.” Will she ever feel “clean?” Cleansed of Him, this place, this filthy place. Will she ever be “free?” She feels the water reaching her ankles, did she forget to unplug the drain? It could overflow. Should she let it?
She sits in the tub, water rising, climbing towards the end of her strawberry-blonde split-ends, and covering her hip bones. Thwack. The front door slams shut. Thwack. The pain shoots across her forehead, like a bad dream, was this all just a nightmare? Thwack. His boots pound up each stair and towards her. The water is now at her chest, really her shoulders, as she folds into her knees, blowing bubbles with her nose, pretending that she could maybe, breathe under the rising water. Maybe she could swim away. She fantasizes that a tail would sprout! And her fins would carry her away into a deep blue sea. She floats away, swimming fast now…Thwack. His hand hits the door, why is he hitting the door? Thwack. What is he even saying? She tucks her chin all the way into her chest, and can no longer hear Him. Its all fuzzy and warm now, warm like her father’s arms, where she came from. She is swimming away now. Faster now, faster! The water flows over the side of the tube, streaming like a waterfall onto the graying tile. She doesn’t care; he can’t swim. She smiles now, she is faster than ever. This is where she is going. She is clean now, and He is not.
Hannah Fitzgerald is a Biomedical Sciences major with a minor in Chemistry at SUNY Cortland. She plans on going to medical school and earning her M.D. to serve humanity through Médecins Sans Frontiers (Doctors Without Borders).