Shut Your Eyes

The sunlight streaming in through the window woke me up.

My eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the bright light that now flooded the bedroom. How long had I been sleeping? I slowly sat up in bed, my sore muscles groaning in protest, and rummaged around in the sea of blankets for my cell phone. Eventually I pulled out of the comforter only to realize it was dead. Awesome. Throwing the blankets back, I sat up, careful not to mess my ribs up any more than they already were. I dragged my tired body across the room and into the adjoining bathroom.

The harsh fluorescent lights didn’t do me any favors. I looked horrible. An angry purple bruise had settled over my left eye, which by some miracle had remained unswollen and my lip was puffed out in a perpetual pout. My face however, wasn’t what had my eyes glued to the mirror. Clad in only a sports bra and a pair of shorts, I saw the evidence of yesterday’s fight in its entirety. A bruise in the shape of a handprint was painted onto my throat like a necklace. Purple fingerprints scattered over my arms and shoulders, some more evident than others. Black and blue fireworks exploded over my ribs, leaving a macabre piece of art in their path. Pulling the waistband of my shorts down slightly, I could see handprints seared onto my hips. Soreness between my legs reminded me of what I’d been trying so hard to push from my mind. My eyes closed as images of last night raced through my head. Tears burned behind my eyelids. I shook my head and forced all thoughts from my mind.

I was not going to go there right now.

Stripping my bra and shorts off, I turned the shower on as hot as I could stand and climbed in. The water pounded at my sore muscles. I found some shampoo and washed my hair slowly, relaxing under the hot water. I also found some body wash, but it was questionable and smelled like men’s cologne so I stole the bar of soap off of the counter and used that instead. Once I was clean, I hopped out of the steamy shower and wrapped a fluffy black towel around myself.

I walked back into the bedroom and unzipped my duffle bag and began the search for something that matched. Since most of my wardrobe consisted of dark-wash jeans and simple tops, I quickly found something that worked and slipped it on. Mentally, I thanked my mother for buying me such a large duffle bag when I’d gone off to college. I had teased her when she bought it, and never used it during those four years, but it had certainly come in handy now; giving me enough space to bring almost all of my clothes and a couple of pairs of shoes.

“Merde…” (Damn)The softly spoken obscenity left my mouth as soon as I realized I’d left my phone charger plugged into my apartment wall. I dug further into the bag, finding my laptop and its plug, and tossed it lightly onto the bed. Since I figured I’d be staying for a while, forever if Max had his way, I began to unpack my clothes and store them away in the black dresser that rested against the wall. The last thing to come out of the bag was my camera. As a photographer, my camera was my prized possession. I hung the bag on one of the hooks that adorned the back of the door. After emptying it, I awkwardly folded the huge black duffle bag and shoved it under the bed, kicking it lightly when it tried to pop back out.

My eyes scanned the room. It looked like something in an Ikea ad; the disheveled bed was the only evidence that a human being had broken the obvious hermetic seal around the doorway. Max obviously never came in here. All of the furniture was black wood, and matched perfectly with the few picture frames that were arranged on the bedside table. The hardwood beneath my feet was dark brown, and looked nice against the crisp white baseboards. And then there were the walls. Beige. Light beige to be exact, the color of coffee with a lot of milk in it. The room needed a touch of life, and I wondered to myself if Max would let me loose with a paintbrush in here. I’d decorated his last place, an apartment with a beautiful view of the city.

I stopped thinking about decorations and paint samples and walked out into the rest of the house in search of a phone charger. We both had iphones so I knew he’d have an extra charger lying around somewhere. When I found the kitchen, I saw a note written in my brother’s messy scrawl taped to the door of the refrigerator door.

The clock on the microwave read ten thirty. If Max was coming home at one, that gave me a couple of hours to run some errands and pick up some stuff I needed. I spotted a phone charger plugged in on the counter. My eyes rolled involuntarily when I noticed Max’s phone still attached and lying on top of a black box with a drawer that housed a notepad and pencil, and next to the home phone. I unplugged his phone and replaced it with mine before grabbing an apple out of the fruit basket and making a list of some things I needed as well as some groceries for the condo.

After finishing my apple, I caked some makeup on my eye and grabbed a scarf to cover up the bruise on my neck. Lucky for me, it was about fifty degrees outside so no one would question the dark purple scarf that I wound around my throat. I grabbed both Max’s and my phone and threw them both into my purse, along with my shopping list and then grabbed my coat and my keys and headed out to my jeep.

I turned the car on and sat quietly while I waited for it to warm up a little. Now would probably be a good time to call my mom. Fishing my phone out of my purse I unlocked it and waited for the barrage of messages and missed calls I knew was waiting for me.

Even though I expected it, my eyes went a little wide after seeing 34 missed calls, 108 new messages, and 12 new voicemails pop onto the screen. I’d deal with that later. I dialed the house in LeMoyne and waited for someone to answer. I didn’t have to wait long before my father’s warm voice flooded the line.

“Allô?”

I smiled at the sound of his voice. “Bonjour papa.”

“Margaux! Comment agréable à entendre parler de vous, vous savez que votre mère est inquiète quand vous n'appelez pas.” (How nice of you to call, you know your mother worries when you don't.)

“Je sais papa, je l'ai tout simplement débordé. Est-maman à la maison?”(I know daddy, I've just been busy. Is Mom home?) I said quietly, picking at a loose thread on my jacket.

“Elle est en ville avec quelques amis.Comment êtes-vous?”(She went to town with some friends. How are you?)

I debated whether or not to tell him what happened. “Je suis très bien.” (I'm fine)

My father scoffed into the phone. “Vous mentez. Je sais que votre voix, mon amour.” (You're lying. I know your voice, my love)

I smiled slightly. “Vous me connaissez trop bien.” (You know me too well.)

He sighed. I could picture him in his favorite chair, a pipe full of tobacco hanging out of his mouth. “Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas, ma chérie?” (What happened, my dear?)

I hesitated a moment. “J'ai quitté Gavin. Je suis à Pittsburgh avec Max.” (I left Gavin. I'm in Pittsburgh with Max.)

He was silent. I heard him draw in a long breath and exhale, a clear sign that he was choosing his words carefully. “Etes-vous d'accord?” (Are you alright?)

I knew he wasn’t asking about my emotional health, he would leave that to my mother. “Je suis maintenant.” (I am now.)

“Je mentirais si je disais que je n'étais pas soulagé. Je suis content que tu vas bien.” (I'd be lying if I said I wasn't relieved. I'm glad you're okay.)

“Moi aussi, papa.” (Me too daddy.)

“Rappelez-moi de lui botter le cul la prochaine fois que je suis à Philadelphie. Il devrait savoir mieux que de mettre ses mains sur ma fille.” (Remind me to kick his ass next time I'm in Philadelphia. He should know better than to put his hands on my little girl.)

I smiled and laughed. Leave it to my father to cap off a sentimental father-daughter moment with a threat. “Vous aurez à le partager avec Max, Will, et Franck.” (You'll have to share him with Max, Will, and Frank)

I could hear the smile in his voice as he said, “Ils peuvent se battre pour ce qui reste de lui.” (They'll have to fight over what's left of him)

We stayed quiet for a moment, just enjoying the silence.

“Je t'aime papa.” (I love you, daddy.) I breathed into the phone.

“Je t'aime aussi, mon fifille. Je t'aime aussi.” (I love you too, my little girl. I love you too.)