Silent Voice ~Haunted

Morning half- light flowed softly from the cold morning into the room. Gloom of another day crept into my mind. The bed did not creak under my pressure as I moved from it. What a change that was. He did not move or alter from his dead like sleep. Slowly I moved toward the kitchen with disdainful feelings creeping in. Family! What a joke it all was. There was only a family of one. Everything was his way. My bare feet glided over the linoleum floor. It was just cold. The nicks from the thrown plates were barely tangible. I could almost hear the crashing waves they made as they hit the floor. I knew every mark on this floor. The hint of bleach hit me. Would there still be blood underneath the bleach? Would it but be just below the surface waiting to creep out? I wish it was so easy to wash all the marks and scars away. There was no easy way out of this.

I moved toward the fridge. I needed to have it perfect. Everything needed to be perfect. Part of me wished I never listened to my mom. Something had made my skin crawl about him the days right before I had said I do. I did not know what it meant by saying that to him. The pan seemed to move into my hand before I knew I was reaching for it. I slid open the fridge grabbing out the cold eggs. Oh please make my eggs this cold and dead. Ruffled covers like crinkling paper moved through the empty house. The taste of old blood moved into my mouth. The purple of my cheek reflected in the stainless steal backsplash. I broke the egg against the pan hearing it sizzle and slowly fry. Just the right color. It just needed to be the right color. Don’t burn it this time.

I reached for the spatula slowly flipping the eggs over. I sprinkled the pepper and just a bit of salt. Would he be sweet today or should I just pour this in my wounds now to get ready for his other half. I was not this woman. I was not this person. I should just walk out and leave. If he finds me he finds me. Could I take it another day? My hand slid over the painted cabinet, so smooth and fake. That was our life. The outside looked so nice painted all together in perfect order. The door opened with a slight squeak. He could not fault me on that I could not change the squeak. I rose up my short legs by standing on my tippy toes. I just needed to reach a plate. I pulled one down with it the plastic smoothness scraping against the others like a wooden spoon in a sauce pan. I flipped the eggs ever so carefully on the plate. They had to be in the right place.

The table was a quick set for his breakfast. He would be waiting for it to all be done. Everything must be in the right place. The tape measure was always within view. The plates must always be four inches from the edge of the table and the silver ware must be one inch away from the plate in the right order. Nothing else would do. My mom always said that you must make them happy or what is your life for. It was always my fault when I angered him. She always asked why I had to upset him so. She thought it looked bad on her. I guess it would not matter anymore. I needed something more than this. I needed something more than the life she led. Perfectly I set it this time. He would have to see. I needed him to trust me. I needed him to let his guard down.

The bathroom light flickered on with the fan humming. The slow tinkling of his morning pee sound crept over the sound of the fan. He would be in here soon. I moved toward the cabinet and grabbed down a glass. I must fill this two-thirds of the way full with juice and the rest with ice. The room seemed colder like a new settlement came over the house. It had to be the wind outside jingling the wind chimes. Closing the cupboard I heard the water rushing down the sink with it ending. I rushed the glass to the table. Please don’t spill. I put it in the right place. He would soon inspect it. Everything would be right this time. I know I had to have done it right.

He moved silently passed me without even a good morning. He was still upset about last night.

“Mom2 on line one” the phone called out. “Mom2 on line one” it called again. I am not to answer it I know but really she will just keep calling. Maybe he can just pick it up.

“Go the hell away!” He called from the kitchen pulling out a bowl.

He did not want his eggs this morning. Oh know I messed up again. I moved toward the wall. Maybe if I am out of sight he won’t notice me here. The cereal fell into the bowl clinking and crashing against the glass. I hated that sound. It reminded me of the feeling of his fist against my face. The rushing of the air right before he connected with my bone. At least this time he put me in bed with him. I need to get away. I just need to find a way out. I think I would like the cold outside better that the ice storm that is in here.

Let the silence of the morning come back when I can lay by his side see him slowly breathe in and out and remember this was not the way he had always been. He slopped the bowl on the table not caring where it landed. That was odd. Why was he not being perfect today? He sat down and crunched away at the cereal reminding me of the kicking. Each bites sounding his boot leaving the linoleum crunching like a branch into my side. He finished the cereal thankfully quickly. Moving quickly even for him on a Sunday morning. He dashed the bowl in the sink and moved back toward our room. I needed to clean it up. He would then be in a better mood. I wish I could find something. I knew I was missing something in my very being with him.

Rough jarring of the drawers came from the room. I could hear the drawers creaking open from his movements. I needed to see what he was doing. I left the dish undone in the kitchen moving back toward our room. I could see the lights on in the room as he moved like a black shadow in front of them.

“She is leaving today!” He grunted at the bags.

I was going to be free! I was going to be free from here! I walked in to see him tossing random clothes into a suitcase. I did not care what he packed for me. I was really going to be able to leave. He did notice I tried this morning. Quickly he zipped it closed before I could offer to do anything. The quiet wind outside rattled the wind chimes in a beautiful melody.

He brushed pasted me toward the garage. I guess he meant right now. I looked at my clothes. They were still bloody from last night but beggars can’t be choosers. I was going to be free. I quickly followed him getting into the passenger seat. He tossed the bag in the back seat. That was unusual. Bags always go in the trunk so they don’t ruin the seats. The wheels were dirty and never should be put where someone might sit. It does not matter. I was leaving. I was going to be free from him, and this life. I would find something of mine. I could really find someone to relate to, and even maybe trust. Maybe one day I could find someone that really loved me. Love. I could find love.

He rushed out of the open garage before I could finish my thought. I was leaving! I was getting out. He was letting me go. He dove down the street turning onto the old road that lead into town. I had never minded living in the country as it was always peaceful. After living with him I never wanted to be away from other people. No one could hit me if there were strangers around to see. The cold wind whipped around the car blowing the autumn leaves round like an orange snowstorm. He stopped the car just before the bridge. Oh god he must have changed his mind. I could try to make a run for it. He pulled down to the river with the gravel crunching under the tires.

I wanted to say please just kill me. I don’t want to go back. He could find someone else. Someone who could make everything perfect and right the way I never could. He stepped out of the car door before I could open my mouth.

“Why did she have to make me do that?” He called to the river.

He moved quickly to the back seat and grabbed my suitcase. I got out of the car standing there like a tree. I did not want to move. I did not want to speak. If he did not notice me outside maybe he could just drive off mad. He had done it before. Splash, clunk the suitcase sounded as it hit the river. He marched back to the car opening the trunk with his clicker. The pop of the trunk hit me. It had be the last sound I remembered from the night before. He grunted under the weight of something. Then walked sluggishly like a drunk under the weight of it. I did not see it until he rounded the car.

“It was all your fault!” He panted under the weight of it.

Then a thick sucking splash hit the water. It did not sink, but float. I had been missing something and there it was. There my body was flowing down the cold river.

I was free.

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