The Mess

I pressed my head against the cool glass of the window, my gaze cast downwards, focused on nothing but the clouds that clung together. Trees flooded with purple balls of blossom intertwined, swaying in the light breeze, as tiny sparrows planted their delicate feet upon the thin branches.

I found myself mesmerised by the brown-bellied sparrow's black eyes, wondering what it was thinking as it stood fixated upon me.

When I heard the door to my uncle's room creak open, my heart dropped, knowing what would happen within the next few minutes.

It had been days since he’d stopped talking to my aunt, and the tension in the house was so thick you could cut the air with a knife.

Though I doubted it would do much good for the situation at hand.

I sighed, reluctantly removing myself from the window.

The powerful urge to remain where I was almost caused me to turn back and resume my position. Nonetheless, my unnatural desire to lose myself in the brilliant emptiness of my mind had to be put on hold.

She sat on the edge of my bed, the tip of her nose painted red, as she sniffed every few seconds. Her tiny form seemed smaller than usual; her left cheek pressed against her thighs, and her shoulders shook with silent sobs.

Lord knew what they had fought over, but it was no mystery that it had affected her far worse than the last dozen fights of the week.

I inhaled deeply, running my fingers through my hair, lifting my bare feet, and sliding them against the soft green carpet, as I began to walk the few steps towards her.

Catching sight of my reflection, I paused. My untamed curls stood at different angles atop my head, baggy joggers hanging loose over my waist; my grey hoodie somewhat hid the belly fat that I had wished to cut out, in huge chunks, and sell to a surgeon.

The bed creaked with my weight as I took a seat beside her, right hand in the air, debating whether I should allow this piece of flesh to make that connection or not.

Did touching a person provide more comfort than the words that fell from my lips? Couldn't my voice be the temporary antidote for her internal pain? Apparently, that was not how things worked, and I had to bury my uneasiness as I reluctantly placed the palm of my hand against her warm back.

“It’ll be okay,” I whispered, reaching out a finger to smooth a stray piece of hair behind her ear.

My hand flopped down to my thigh, enough touching for today, I thought to myself, as I fumbled for something else to say.

“I hate his guts”, she croaked, suddenly breaking the silence, and I let some air release from my nose.

She’d said this too many times; the words she spoke were almost too predictable, already forming in my mind before they tumbled past her full pink lips.

“I’ll go talk to him”, I whispered, sliding off the bed, feet connecting to the ground once more. Her slim fingers wrapped themselves around my wrist and tugged me back with an intensity I had no idea she was capable of.

“No, that's what he wants.”

I blinked. “He wants me to go and confront him?”

She nodded, averting her gaze; hatred swam within the dark pools of her eyes.

I gulped, my stomach turning on its side.

“Okay, well, what do I say?”

“You’re good at talking”, she whispered, pushing her forehead against her knees and exhaling.

She couldn’t have been more wrong. I hated talking, found no pleasure in the sharp weapon stitched to the insides of our mouths. Words that met our bottom lip, before racing to an idle ear. Perhaps my uncle skipped that part, for he’d much rather use his fists. Or his tongue was too small.

I had the urge to retreat within my mind, drowning in its void, floating in the oceans of nothingness, anticipating the call from reality. Where was the part where I realised that this whole scenario was just another event I’d managed to create out of boredom, conjured from nothing?

But no, I was here, awkwardly trying to fizzle out a situation that had spun out of control once again.

I wondered what would have happened if my uncle had an audience; would he put his vocal organs to use?

Though the house remained silent, the walls conversed amongst themselves. I imagined what they would have witnessed: my aunt collapses to the ground after the first hit, ears screaming, vision dotted black, as she desperately clawed her way across the carpet in a poor attempt at an escape. As if the walls would save her, she slid her hand against its cool surface, biting back sobs that threatened to escape her throat.

I ran my fingers against the same walls, as I began my 25-second journey to my uncle’s bedroom, thinking of what to say, how to begin. Do I greet him, converse for a while, and then bring my aunt into the conversation? I had the strangest urge to throw myself at him in a rage, pulling at his hair and biting his flesh till blood dribbled down my chin, and he’d shriek in terror.

I had always known that I was stronger than I allowed others to perceive, and as I stood in the doorway to his dimly lit bedroom, I felt my thighs tremble. 

He lay on his stomach, phone in hand, eyes glued to the screen, swivelling left and right. I crouched down and plucked a shoe from the rack, holding it firmly in my hands before entering his room.

His gaze met the shoe before mine, and I watched him connect the dots within his mind. He rolled to his back, then sat up, glaring daggers at the shoe which dangled from my fingertips, wound tight around the laces, tightening my grip, my knuckles throbbing from its intensity.

I allowed him to walk to me, not speaking a word, watching the way the limp in his left foot slowed his pace considerably, destroying his threatening posture. I stood tall on both my feet, pushing my chest out, trying to add some additional height to my tiny size, shuffling from one foot to the other, mocking his disability.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he whispered. The rage had taken over him so much so that he could barely find a voice to speak with.

I focused on his triangular face, zooming in on the hedge that rested atop his lip, and bit back a laugh. My mind had wandered to a comical scenario, a perturbed habit of mine, that seemed to purposefully creep up on me when I was in a compromising position. I envisioned myself stretching out my arm and yanking off his moustache, and watching as he’d hop around squealing like an eel. 

“Did you forget how to respect?” his nasal tone broke through my thoughts, and I blinked, unfazed. I had forgotten what I had come into the room for.

My unattentiveness had permitted his hand to fly at me. I like to imagine that I would’ve ducked down, so that his paw would automatically swipe the air. Then I would’ve jumped up and hooked my skinny arm around his neck, locking him in place.   

Of course, none of that happened, and I was left with my ears burning, whilst I dug the heels of my feet into the carpet, refusing to react to his little physical tantrum.

He tilted his head to the side “What? Aren’t you going to say anything?” He spat, chest heaving as if he’d beaten a gang of men in an alley.

I rolled my bottom lip into my mouth, refusing to drop my gaze from his. This seemed to frustrate him further, and he grabbed the front of my shirt, bunching it in his fist, as he drew me closer, our noses touching. His breath tickled my nostrils, and I wrinkled my nose in disgust, having no desire to be standing in such proximity.

“Little bitch, just like your aunty”, he placed both his palms against my shoulders, shoving me towards the bed, yet I did not budge from my position. I internally applauded my strength and proceeded to glare into the eyes of the monster, with steam pouring out of his ears.

I watched his eyes darken, shots of crimson sprinkled within the whites of his eyes, his fists curled, as he made another attempt to hurl himself at me, halting when my aunty shrieked at him to get away from me.

“Look who it is”, he sneered, fist hovering in the air. I didn’t trust him enough to turn around and tell her to go away. Couldn’t she see that I was handling this perfectly?

“Leave her be, it’s me you need to fight with”, she whispered, standing next to me. From the corner of my eye, I caught a tremor in the dimple of her chin.

“Stop being so brave, Aunty”, I sighed.

My uncle had not yet said a word; perhaps he found us amusing, two weak little women, ready to fight a magnanimous man like himself.

“Enough”, he said, taking a step back he stood crookedly leaning on his good leg “what has the world given me? Two useless women who cannot do the simplest thing. What did I ask? For respect nothing more,” he spread his arms wide as if he was silently asking for a hug, yet neither of us moved.

“Is respect so difficult?”

When neither of us responded, he allowed his bad leg to touch the ground, and limped towards us “Do you not hear the question bitch?” He glared at me, and I swallowed while holding his gaze with equal ferocity.

“There is no respect for a man who does not return it” The words had barely left my lips, and he pounced, like a one-legged hyena. He growled, his breath tickling my ears, whilst his hands destroyed whatever he touched, pulling and scratching my skin, bruising my body with his claws.

Somewhere in the background, I was vaguely aware of a voice pleading, promises of eternal obedience almost had my ears bleed.

I shook my head from side to side, trying to regain control, forcing my soul back into its vessel.

“Stop”, I whispered, pawing the air.

Air whipped against my cheek, and I heard a gasp, followed by a thump, as if someone had hit the wall with a hammer. I hoped to God that it was not the sounds of torture.

Hours seemed to fly, and my mind focused on the sound of my auntie's frantic voice as she shook my shoulders “I fucked up,” she whimpered, her forehead sprinkled red, her hands sticky as they grabbed at my arm.

“What do I do?” she gasped, slapping her hand over her mouth and heaving.

“Calm down”, I whispered, “We’ll shove him in the boot.”

Her eyes widened, but she swiftly left the room, returning moments later with a roll of large plastic bags in her hand. “Best get on with it then”

We worked in silence, neither of us displaying a sliver of emotion, fearing that the other might break down, and we’d waste time.

Our purpose was to clear the mess we made. Nothing more.