Sooo....here's the final product of my workshop piece for Creative Writing. It's kinda cool?
Best,
Susannah
She touched the tips of three fingers to the warm, puffy area of broken skin that stretched taut over the bone of her eye socket and cursed quietly. The slim and tattooed arms reached out to support her thin frame against the sink, and she raised her lids, one heavy and dark with swelling, to meet her own gaze in the mirror. Breath moved through her body of it’s own accord, and she stared, unmoving, at her reflection. She hated the fine strands of hair that hung in a limp frame about her face; she hated the pinkish, mostly-faded acne marks and the way her collar bones jutted out. Sarah felt a knotted discomfort in the center of her stomach which radiated through her body a sensation she couldn’t name. It felt cold, it felt lonely, and it made her limbs ache in a dead way. Her body gave way and she sank onto the cold toilet seat, noticing but not caring that everything about the tiny room was stained and cracked with age and overuse. Bits of hair were caked into the corners of the tile with dried shaving cream and soap, and the spit-back toothpaste of countless renters had worn a bleached path in the apartment’s yellowed sink basin. Sarah sat and stared and hated.
She peered silently into the mirror’s surface and continued to scrutinize herself, her eyes seeming to find plenty of flaws to focus on. She hated the way her freckles blended together in places and resembled blotchy birthmarks, and she hated the tiny gray sun-specks in the whites of her eyes. Somehow thinking only of these, these permanent and virtually unnoticeable imperfections made it easier to avoid the fresh and bloody deformity that now razed her face. The swelling had increased, it seemed, and the space around her right eye was darkening further. It felt strange watching this, the bruising process. Bruises never really appeared on impact, she knew, but rather ripened and swelled visibly like some rotting fruit. The only interregnum in the vast purpling bruise that surrounded her eye was provided by the bloody tears and cuts in her skin. She was too drained from the emotional exhaustion that comes with crying and screaming and fighting to feel anything passionate; she didn’t even hate him, she was too tired to. But beneath the exhaustion and the feeling of withdrawal she felt as her adrenaline receded and even deeper than that cold feeling of loss and loneliness in her stomach, Sarah felt the need to leave. She needed to get out for good, and she needed to do it today. Because no matter how many times he apologized, and no matter how many times she wondered if maybe she actually deserved it, she knew this was never going to get better. Dean was never going to get better. Sure, it was easy to think that all couples fight, and that everyone gets angry: it was with those thoughts that she had appeased herself thus far. Something was different this time, though, whether it was in the way he kept drawing his fist back again and again even as she cowered away or whether it was something inside her that had finally snapped.
The thin walls and worn carpeted floor of the apartment watched and creaked as Sarah ambled through the small rooms. Her thoughts were racing and somersaulting through her head, and nothing seemed to fit. She found momentary refuge on the couch in the would-be living room and drew her knees to her chest. She absentmindedly dug her front teeth into her knee caps, hugging her legs and watching he saliva darken her jeans as she gnawed. The taste was comforting. Weirdo, she mused, tossing her head back and rubbing the wet spot on her knees. This was ridiculous. Brushing her hand anxiously through her hair, Sarah hopped form the couch and decided enough was enough.
As she hastily planned to leave, Sarah’s thoughts drifted through her mind. Images, distorted and disconnected, flashed before her. There they were, she and Dean, sitting in that very room watching a movie on TV that bore no importance. Her toes snuck under his legs for warmth. He knew she loved to rest her cheek on his shoulder when they sat side by side. She knew he sat extra still so as to be a comfortable pillow. She liked that. He often opened the passenger seat door for her, because she liked it. He tried to make her feel special sometimes. She felt alone.
The front door to the apartment swung open with a small noise, and Sarah’s thoughts fled through the opening where orange twilight made a silhouette of Dean’s frame in the doorway. His eyes found hers for a moment, and he said nothing. Like always, he was trying to pretend nothing had happened, but tension crouched beneath their silence and the air was heavy between them.
“I think I’m going to go,” Sarah said softly. Dean raised his head and his gaze shot across the room.
“Where?” he asked, the anger in his eyes evident for a moment, though he strained to keep his voice level. Dean knew what she meant, but he was casual as always. He could have been commenting on the weather. She felt her hands begin to shake, and sweat shined on her palms.
“I just can’t...do this anymore, Dean” she said flatly. She felt desperate. Part of her wanted him to run to her, to hold her, and to stroke her hair with his thick fingers, sliding them across her shoulders and down her back like he used to. Bare skin against bare skin, they resolved problems.
Dean stood by the door and did nothing. Sarah felt rooted to the floor, and the only movement she seemed capable of was curling her toes. She forced them into the thin carpet until the knuckles ached, her unseeing eyes staring forward. Dean had wandered into the kitchen now, and Sarah saw from where she stood that he had taken a beer from the fridge. He knocked off the cap with a key from the bunch he still clutched in his hand.
“C’m here, baby,” Dean whispered as he leaned against the kitchen counter. He took a long sip from the bottle clutched in his strong fingers and waited for her to obey. Sarah walked toward him, straining to keep from falling into his arms. She hoped he would read her thoughts and know how to really fix this, but she knew he couldn’t and wouldn’t. Instead he slipped his warm thumb into the waistband of her jeans, rubbing the soft area of skin underneath her sharp hip bone. Her breath drew sharply into her lungs and he pulled her close, his hands deftly exploring the body he knew so well. Sarah clenched her teeth together hard and tried to withdraw, knowing exactly where this was going. His sly grin flashed and with his big hands he gripped her supple ass, pressing her slim body into him still harder. He knew she loved it, and she did. Her blood pulsed hot through her body, and her breathing grew heavy. She wanted this so bad, a hot and rough remedy, instant gratification, instant satisfaction...over and over again. She bit the inside of her lip and shoved herself into his warm embrace.
“Dean,” she breathed after a moment, her eyes fluttering shut. “Dean, stop,” she said, still barely audible, but pulling away again. “This can’t keep happening like this,” she cried softly. She couldn’t find the words to explain why, even to herself, but she knew she had to end this cycle. The relationship drained and consumed her, sucked her time and her thoughts and her very being. More times than she could count it happened like this; he would hold her body against his and fuck her good and hard until it was over, when their hot bodies would be slick with sweat and satisfaction and for a moment it was perfect. But all too soon he would roll out of bed and slink into his jeans, stumbling on one foot for a moment before slipping on his belt and tank top. The passion was gone from his eyes then, and she would hug her knees to her bare chest and chew the inside of her lips to keep form crying as he spent the rest of the day staying out of her way and being short and impatient with her at any forced interaction.
“Hey, hey...” he breathed, not ready to give up this easily without getting what he wanted first. “Come on, just give me a chance to show you how good I can make you feel.” Sarah closed her eyes and rested her face in the softness of his shoulder. She inhaled, breathing in his scent that was so familiar, so comforting. She felt trapped. Her thoughts raced as she searched for the words to tell him that this was killing her, that for every moment of pleasure there were hours and days of anguish, of pain and heartache and screams and hatred.
“This is it. I can’t. I can’t.” With an instantaneous rush of a new kind of impulsivity, Sarah wrenched herself free from his grasp and rushed to the room they shared, lunging around the room for her belongings.
“You’re really doing this?” he challenged, stalking after her into the bedroom, grasping out to get hold of her body again. “You’re really going to run out on me and fuck this up?” He was getting angry now, breathing in that way she hated, his eyes squinting. Inside Sarah was seething. How dare he accuse her of ruining what they shared? All she did was give, of herself and of her body and of her emotions, always at his beck and call. Her eyed stung with the tears that welled up behind her lids. She turned her face away from his, trying to stay strong.
“You pathetic little bitch,” he spat as she grabbed her suitcase. “No one wants you, and I won’t be surprised when you come back begging like a little bitch for me to take you back. You need me” He walked from the room as he rolled his eyes. Her own dripped with tears, which rolled hot down her cheeks. She wiped them away furiously, lost yet again for words. Her body was hot and weak, but she raised up slowly from her seat on the edge of the bed. She shouldered the door brutally, dragging a suitcase and backpack behind her. Without another word from either of them, Sarah reached for the handle of the front door, feeling the coolness of the metal beneath her hot fist. She turned it gently and sucked in the night air, momentarily calm.
