Perfect White

Her features would never again appear in the ebony-framed bathroom mirror. She had to get away. And this time she was going to make it.

The previous night he hit her again. His face seemed distorted as he peeked through the crack of the door. The huge brown eyes she once fell in love with were now minimized to slits. He breathed through his mouth, every exhalation accompanied by the sound of an old and very tired bagpipe.

The bathtub she soaked in 15 minutes ago was still wet. Like the white tiles in front of it. Now she knew they were impractical. White tiles revealed every tiny spec of dirt. He said such a perfect housewife like her would never let the tiles get dirty. He kissed her on the neck, while tracing her spine with the tips of his fingers.

They were just married.

Her cheek hurt. Yesterday his fist collided with the delicate tissue. The inner side was immediately torn from the contact with her teeth. The heavy wetness of blood mixed with the saliva in her mouth. She swallowed, despite the taste. Spitting it could make him angrier. The blood colored her teeth. As she begged him to stop, the liquid trickled on her lips and down her chin.

The left side of her face started heating and swelling until she thought her skin would explode.

The mirror revealed the outcome of his assault. Her fingers cautiously touched the ugly violet skin to make sure this deformed flesh was a part of her body. Her confirmation came in the form of a pulsing pain.

Never again. He would no longer be able to hit her. Every time he did it was the last. And every time she decided to give him a last chance. She knew the one who hit her was not the man she married. But slowly, her love and determination to be by his side gave way to fear every other time she saw the eyes like slits. It was time to get away.

Her big escape. She had no more strength to try making things right. Too tired and broken. The man who loved her appeared less and less often while the other one was on his way to take over. Weakness or not, she had to get away. She did not want to feel his boot in her kidneys once again.

She fell on her knees. The caps cracked against the white tiles. She prayed he won't find her in the new place then leaned heavily against the wall. She would be stuck with him for eternity, if she failed. She knew that if he found her, he would imprison her. Never kill her. Just make her suffer for the rest of her life. Maybe even longer.

The white tiles were already far behind. The trees along the highway, stretching to embrace the sky, nodded. Welcoming the newly found freedom. Her hair was all messed up. The wind coming through the open window had child fingers. While caressing, they created solid knots in her locks. Her cheeks felt hot from the wind and the excitement of getting away. At the same time she could barely feel her limbs, as if they were simply missing and her body became lighter than air in the absence of the heavy fist. He would never find her. She knew he would never find her. Otherwise, he would own her for eternity.

He found her the next morning. Did not want to see her face after he hit her. Hurting her, the ability to crush, to break her spirit and body gave him the satisfaction and strength he needed so bad. The adrenaline rush. He was her master.

She sat on the bathroom floor, leaning against the white tiles. They were white no more. The entire bathroom was red. Different shades of red and pink. The water from the bathtub no longer transparent. Her beige linen pants also red and heavily wet now. Her wrists cut open.... Her face smiling.

Her eyes stared straight into him. He could see some of her teeth, revealed by the thin waxy strips that were her lips some hours ago. They were white and clean.