Bruises

She wanted to fly. She wanted to feel the wind on her face, the clouds at her fingertips and heaven at her toes. Sadly she was not in the air, but rather, she was sinking in to her bed. She dragged her fingernails across the mattress where the fitted sheet had come undone. Rolling on to her back, she noticed milky looking paint chipping off of the ceiling as she envisioned candescent snow dancing over her. She heard him coming.

He brought her coffee in bed and leaned in to plant a kiss on her forehead. Forcing a smile -she slowly sat up accepting his offer. Ben placed himself on the edge of their bed. Brushing the hair out of her eyes, she met his stare and then whipped her head away as if shaking off a pesky mosquito. Fixated on the beige wall now, Amy muttered a "Thanks," lacking any tone or feeling in her voice.

The room was loud with their thoughts as they sat in silence. Amy shuttered spilling coffee on the comforter as Ben reached for her empty hand. "Crap, sorry," she exhaled. Ben slowly grabbed her mug like he was negotiating with someone who gribbed a gun. He placed it on the night stand and stared down at his lap. No words could come out. He conjured something up and whispered, "we'll get through this."

Tossing her head from the wall, she met his eyes. His once beautiful green eyes were now sad and dull-lacking their usual spark. She commanded her arm to reach out for him, but all she could place it on was his shirt cuff. She started fiddling with the ivory button on it and decided to lie. She grabbed both his hands, placed them in hers and replied, "I know, I love you."

With an apprehensive smile, Ben squeezed her hands tight, pecked her on the cheek and retreated from his seat on the bed. He left the room without looking back. Amy pulled the blankets over her head.

She knew she couldn't trick herself in to forgiving him again. There were too many nails in that coffin and the finality of it all killed her. Or would he kill her? Where would she go? What would she do? She felt a coolness behind her left knee and remembered. The only way she could leave was this way.

Jumping out of bed, almost falling down from the slippery hardwood, she grabbed the gun from underneath the covers. Instead of going after him immediately she caught herself in the mirror. She looked thin and weak with her most recent bruise taking occupation under her left eye. She stood there staring until her reflection became distorted and all that was left were blurry shapes and colors. She knew what she had to do to escape. She knew what she had to do to fly.