Shattered

A physical/emotional scar plaguing a young woman which she finds difficult to forget and move on.

     Shhh, the shower spoke in hushed tones, as if telling her everything was going to be okay; shedding tears of its own for what she had endured. The crack and sizzle of the droplets echoing as they ricocheted off the pristine walls of the spotless, large bathroom were the only sounds to be heard.

       Her face was stoic. The hazel eyes which once glimmered with hope, the contagious smile she wore which everyone knew and loved were gone, unable to return. She figured a hot shower would rid her of the thoughts, the images�"memories she wished she could forget, though they only seemed to incite them.

      Tyler, she thought, the five-letter word that’s been plaguing her mind all this time, tearing her apart, piece by piece, day by day. The agonizing pain that courses through her veins as she remembered his god-forsaken face. It was amazing someone she loved so much could hurt her so bad. Her eyes darted absentmindedly to her left hand which felt incomplete without that item which symbolized his love for her, the life they were planning to live together. She looked up and shook her head. Now it’s all gone, she thought. It was nothing more than a dream, ephemeral. 

        She remembered- which seemed so long ago- a time when she and Tyler were inseparable, headover-heels for each other. He was just a cute, goofy boy she met about two years back. He had distinct facial features about him: the mess of dark brown hair she loved to run her fingers through, icy-blue, dazzling eyes and the most delicate of eyelashes. His signature smirk, accented by his left dimple which melted her heart and his gentlemanly ways: bringing her flowers, being a hopeless romantic and just giving her compliments anytime of the day just to see her blush, which he loved. She’d spend hours daydreaming about him being with her when he was away on business or at work. 

        She fumbled with the body wash, her slender fingers gliding over the lid, opening it with a satisfied pop and then closing it with a click several times, reminiscing the love they once shared. 

        Then came the night he proposed. The freshly cut lilies he gifted her with, the twinkling lights which hung from the ceiling, coiled around every gilded column of the five-star restaurant he rented out for that night--the same restaurant where they had their first date. The toasting of chilled champagne over a candle-lit dinner which he made. It was all so perfect. As a little girl, she dreamed of a prince charming like those she heard about in fairytales: gentlemanly, suave, kind, caring and brave. The kind that could sweep her off her feet within minutes after they first met, fight for her, love her and treat her like the princess her dad used to tell her she was. 

       Dad, she said, her tone barely a whisper, Mom. Oh, how she missed them. The tea parties where she’d serve the fanciest air, playing dress up, where she made him sit in those ridiculously tiny plastic chairs, wear those tiaras and fluffy bright pink scarves and how she’d scold him for not sipping with his pinkie up. He never seemed to mind, though. During scoldings, he always held his hands up in mock surrender, pretending to be intimidated by a pint-size  three-year old  girl in a frilly purple tutu, shooting daggers at him.

         

Author's Note

This was something I'd been working on, but haven't been able to complete. Please feel free to leave comments and offer any advice you may have. I hope you enjoy and thank you for reading :)

Reviews

[An owl on the moon]

It is so powerfully fulfilling to read your passages and sense the mingling of such joys and sorrows, the day and night of life and love. Am thankful you found us here at the cafe, and appreciate you sharing your artistic voice.