Guilty Conscience (Or Not?)

So many people say I have come so far...but have I really? Old habits (and thoughts) die hard...

“S**t!” she cursed, and then quickly crouched to gather the pieces of broken glass, her haste such that she paid no mind to the tiny shards that pricked her or embedded themselves into her skin. Her thoughts were focusing one thing: cleaning up the evidence of her mistake before anyone found out.

            She stood, moving to dump the mess in the trash can, careful to hide it beneath some of the existing trash. Turning, she headed back to the sink, and then cursed again when her shoes crunched on some leftover glass. Whirling, she dashed to gather the broom, first thoroughly sweeping the area and testing it with her shoes to make sure nothing else crunched, and then bending down to thoroughly inspect the area.

            Straightening, she looked around and quickly decided that she had better sweep the rest of the floor to avoid reprimand later"in her mind, she reminded herself that no one would notice that it was clean, only that it was not. Sweeping led her to wiping off the counters, table and stove. Wiping the stove led her to discover more dishes, and then to finish off them and the others in the sink.

            Finally, she turned to examine her work, trembling and sweating, her eyes wide as she struggled to see what else needed to be done"she was certain she had missed something.

 

Unable to find the flaw, she hurried to her room.

 

            She checked her e-mail for anything important, which led to her checking other sites she belonged to, certain someone would be cross with her if she did not reply to any messages as soon as possible. She noted that she had stories to update soon, mentally chastising herself for letting the readers wait so long. Thinking that there probably would not be any reviews after such a lag in posting, she checked anyways.

            A smile lit her face when she saw one and clicked on it; it disappeared as she read. Slowly, her eyes lost that brief moment of glimmer, turning grey and cold as they always did when her usual depression took hold. A shaky finger pressed the button to turn off her monitor and joined her hands as they fisted in the hair on the back of her head. She slammed her forehead against the slick wood of her desk, sobbing as she fought the hot tears that threatened to spill.

 

“Rape should never be used as a plot device,” was the thing that stung her the most about that exceedingly long and harsh flame.

 

            She had messed up again, but she had not been trying to. She hadn’t thought she had used it as a plot device; as she saw it, it wasn’t a device at all. Rape just happened, that was all, and it had a lot of repercussions"that was the point.

            She flinched at the thought. She had put too much of herself in her writing again. No one wants to hear about that kind of thing"something disgusting and meant to be hidden. She had always been told to keep it a secret about herself, so why should use such a thing in a story.

            She shuddered and wrapped her arms around herself, choking as the frustration balled itself in her throat. Images flashed through her mind and she twitched, shoving them away one by one. She didn’t need to think about being touch, about false love, false trust, broken wishes, and the shattered state she now dwelt in.

 

            The front door slammed and she quickly shut the internet pages and yanked out her homework, cursing at herself for getting distracted for so long. She always got it done on time, but that didn’t stop her from getting yelled at for being on the internet, even though it was her room. She sighed and chewed her lower lip, pausing in her work every now and then to tear skin from her lip as she concentrated.

            A familiar sound told her that she was being IMed. She quickly switched off the speakers and opened it, smiling slightly when she saw who it was. Even though they had met online and never met in person, this girl was her best friend. She knew her so much better than anyone else; they had shared so much. She wasn’t sure what she would do if she lost such a good friend; but she was waiting for it to happen.

            Her mind always worried over the possibilities, all of the ways she could and probably would screw things up. Another mood swing, the wrong words, the wrong actions, and another friendship would go down the toilet. She panicked at the thought and shook her head. Typing a quick reply and going back to her homework.

 

            The yell of her name alerted her; she quickly turned off the monitor and stood up, careful to set the homework out in plain sight. She opened door and the lecture ensued.

 

The living room wasn’t clean. That had been her sister’s job, but apparently not. She’d made a mistake and remembered wrong again. Her thoughts never seemed to be right, even when she was absolutely certain of herself, they always turned out to be wrong.

            She thought back to some of the conversations after she had revealed her abuse"the doubt, the explanations, the excuses. She couldn’t even be sure that she had actually been abused, or by who, or if she had even wanted it.

            She nodded as she came back to the conversation and the verdict was given. She closed the door, returned to the monitor, and typed a quick goodbye before turning off her computer. No computer until the living room was cleaned. She returned to her homework, feeling hollow and alone. Her thoughts were so troubled that it was bedtime when she finished.

            She changed clothes and readied herself before bed, but instead of turning off the lights and laying down, she found herself sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at her pillow. She moved it and eyed the dagger she kept there for a sense of safety that probably had more to do with paranoia.

Like so many times before, she thought about picking it up and making it one with her flesh. She thought wistfully of the long sleep that would be waiting. No more worries, no more mistakes, no more yelling, no more memories…no more pain. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She knew there were people, too few of them, who would be disappointed in her if she did that. That disappointment, not their possible sorrow, was the thing that stopped her every time.

           

She sighed, turned off the light, and curled up in bed, hand clutched tightly around her only security as she cried herself to sleep.

 

 

Years later, she sits in front of a laptop, typing away as a guilty mood takes her. She is safe now, but for how long? How long until her past finds her? How long until she screws things up again?

            She curses to herself silently as she finishes writing a short story that isn’t really a story. She wonders if she should even be posting it. Is it another mistake? People probably won’t like it anyways. It might not even make sense to them. She frowns and decides to post it anyways.

            Not like she can screw up much more tonight. She had already screwed up twice, what more did it matter? Hell, she had probably screwed up more and just couldn’t remember, because that part of her mind was so shot and self-doubting these days that nothing stuck.

            She sighs and closes her eyes, taking a deep breath before finally posting the piece and waiting to be reprimanded"though these days, with these people, she rarely was"for her latest mistake, as was her habit, ingrained in her from childhood…

Author's Note

Kind of a rant in the form of literature, to help me to blow off some steam and frustration while I examine my damaged mind, really. Still, it's my writing nonetheless, and as always, I welcome criticism.

Reviews

[Mary Evans]

Very good literature piece. The language and style are nice.

Few mistakes i spotted:

"her haste such that she paid no mind " Sounds as if something's missing. Like "her haste was such"
"to finish off them" You mean "to finish them off"
"being touch" It should be 'being touched"
"Even though they had met online and never met" Sound like a repetition.

The emotions are really well represented. Also her way of life is nicely implied. Nice job with expressing the mental state too.

Overall, very nice. Keep up the good work.

[Larry Dyson]

oh a wonderfully OCDC piece as only those of Us can write..or you are exceptional at understanding.. nevertheless ..it is wonderfully expressed...why not enter it in the contest as well? good luck..