Statue

“Dammit,” he roared. His fist met the wall with such force that the room shook. “It’s isn’t fair.” Violet, sitting at the table, felt his punch in the vibrations that were now rattling the floor.

A dark hole now sat—the black spot stood out in extreme contrast to the mint green paint that covered the wall. It stared at them both, like a portrait, watching them with still eyes.

Eric walked around the kitchen, pacing back and forth, his bleeding hand behind his head.

“You know what the worst part is? I didn’t know. I’m so stupid,” he circled around, staring at Violet. She eyed his hand and the red streaks beginning to run down to his fingertips.

She stood up from the table and grabbed his wounded hand. Eric hardly noticed, his fuming anger making him oblivious to the world. Violet lead him over to the kitchen sink and turned on the faucet.

“I should have done something,” his voice was softer. He flinched when the water hit his hand. It stung, but not as much as the situation at hand.

“What could you have done?” Violet spoke, her fingers running over Eric’s hand gently, wiping off the blood, the same way she wished she could wipe away this problem.

“If I would have paid attention—“

“Then you wouldn’t have found out anything,” Violet cut him off. “None of us could have seen it coming. I didn’t notice anything; your mother didn’t notice anything. He’s smarter than we’re giving him credit for.”

“Are you defending him?” he sneered in disbelief.

“No, sweetie. I’m just saying that it’s not your fault.” The bleeding had stopped. She wrapped his hand in a towel to rid the extra droplets of water that stuck on his skin.

“Yes it is. If I would have known…” his voice trailed off.

“If you would have known, it would have been worse. If you would have known, then we would have been sitting here months earlier, in the same situation, only your guilt would be on the line. It wouldn’t have been any better,” their few moments of silence broke. Violet began pulling the pieces of drywall and paint chips out from his gash.

“Okay, that hurts,” he pulled his hand back.

Violet didn’t hesitate in grabbing it right back. “If you leave that junk in there, you’ll get an infection.”

They stood by each other, silent. Their thoughts hung over their heads, taunting them. If only we would have… Why did it happen? What did I do wrong?

Violet dropped Eric’s hand once she approved of it. She looked up into his face. The raw emotions of anger and distress were painted across his face like oil pastels on canvas.

He wanted to be strong. He wanted to keep himself up and going. He wanted to sit in the highest place on Earth, and pretend like everything was fine.

He wanted to be like a statue. Strong, silent, picture perfect. Anyone could look at him and see the look on his face—the look that was always calm and tranquil. No one would know the story. No one could knock him down and destroy him. But he was human.

His father—the one who taught him how to fish, how to ride a bike, how to shoot a shotgun, how to impress a girl—betrayed him. Left him alone with his mother and sister to support; to protect. Decided that his own wife, and the two human beings that should mean the world to him, the two human beings that he created, weren’t good enough.

His father was seeing someone on the side—at least, that’s how Eric’s mother explained it.

He had thrown away the relationship he had with those closest to him. He had trashed every ounce of trust and care that those three people gave to him. He had lied. He had had an affair. He had cheated.

“What are you thinking?” Violet shattered the stillness with her voice.

Eric looked up, his eyes burning holes into Violet’s eyes. “I don’t know what to do,” he spoke, honestly.

Violet didn’t respond—she just looked back at Eric, the broken figure in front of her.

“I don’t either,” she whispered, eventually, “but I promise you that I’m not going anywhere.” She was sincere. “No matter who breaks you, I’m always going to be here, right beside you. I promise.”