Coffee Break

I gazed into the mirror in front of me. I let my eyes wander over the plain brown hair that fell straight past my shoulders and the dull green eyes that looked like broken sea glass. Glaring at the freckles on my nose that was too big for my face. They scanned my outfit for the evening, deeming it acceptable. Finally, they stopped when they landed on the tattoo peeking out from under the 13 bracelets on my wrist.

I like the number 13. It feels safe. It’s a safe number. It’s prime. Nothing bad can happen when I’m wearing a prime number.

My wrist was covered in 13 bracelets because there were angry, red lines that lie underneath. There were cuts, burns, and a single word I had permanently etched into the skin. ‘Forever’. I scolded myself for ever getting that tattoo. I had gotten it for no reason, and all it had granted me was a forever of pain and loneliness. I was no longer the beauty queen my parents so often praised. I was no longer the cover-girl of my small-town Alabama church. I was no longer Mary Catherine Allen.

You see, Mary Catherine was a good girl name. Not the name of a miserable 16-year-old who cut herself because she couldn’t stand to know she had let her parents down. She couldn’t stand to know that she was the reason her mother died when she was 15. She stared into her own dull green eyes, seeing the pain held deep within.

~Flashback~

I was upstairs in the bathroom. I wanted to end it all. I had stolen a razor out of the pencil sharpener on my desk and that night, I was going to be granted true freedom. I started a bath for myself and used six squirts of lavender-scented bubble bath. Six was a nice number. It was comfortable. I remember neatly folding my clothes on the closed toilet lid, and sliding into the warm bath, revelling in the amazing feeling. It felt like a liquid blanket slid over my body.

I quickly shampooed, conditioned, and shaved; preparing myself for my casket. I had my note on the desk, asking for a white casket and blue flowers. Blue was a comfortable color. I know to most it would probably be weird, but I had no problem with making a wishlist for the after-life.

Closing my eyes, I reached for the razor. My hand slid over the harsh, cold surface and let it fall into the middle of my palm. I had all the time in the world now. I slowly twisted it around my fingers, getting a feel for it. I was getting tired. Too tired to play around a second longer. I grasped the razor and stroked my pale wrist with it, lifting it back up to reveal a thin red line.

One.

I brought it back down a second time. A third. A fourth.

The door to the bathroom twisted open and my mother walked in. I dropped the razor and my bleeding wrists into the tub, cursing myself for not locking the door. She stood in the doorway with tears in her eyes, staring back at me. Her eyes didn’t blink, but her chin quivered and silent tears dripped onto her favorite silk dress.

She knelt by the tub, tears in her eyes, and whispered, “Give it to me.”

Knowing that I would disappoint her even more if I disobeyed, I placed my last resort into her hands.

Without another word, my mother helped me stand up, wrapping me in a towel and pulling me close. I knew her dress- her favorite dress- was ruined because of my childish attempt to escape the pain. I sat on the toilet lid, moving my clothes to the floor, and let her wrap my wrist with gauze. The cuts weren’t deep, but I hadn’t gotten to finish. There were only four. Four was a bad number. It was even. It was a square number. Four was unlucky.

There were no words spoken the rest of the night; neither of us had any. I laid in my mother’s bed, caged inside her fragile arms. We were both cold since the heating had gone out, but we kept each other warm. I had laid there in my fuzzy monkey pajamas, her in her ruined silk dress, and enjoyed each other’s warmth. We didn’t watch TV, we didn’t listen to music, we didn’t talk. There was no need. She spoke to me without a single word, not wasting a single breath. “I love you,” rattled through my brain, and I knew it was my mom.

I fell asleep, protected by her fragile wings.

~Real Life~

I snapped out of the flashback. It was too painful to continue. I couldn’t stand to go on, knowing it was my fault my mother had died. My fault my father had left. My fault my brother had taken his life. I looked around the empty apartment, glad to be leaving. I grabbed the last of my bags and blew a kiss to the godforsaken house I had spent my miserable childhood in. I ran across the front lawn to the waiting limo sent by my grandmother, waved goodbye for the final time, and then turned my back on my old life.