Had Michael packed this as a punishment for her? A small torture for being so evil? No, he wouldn’t do that. He was a good man.
Delores’s lips mouthed her name, but no sound came out, her face creased in the agony that was always accompanied by Anabel’s memory.
Anabel, her sweet daughter. She had so much life inside of her, so much to give the world. Like most girls her age, she loved to sing and dance. But her favourite thing of all was helping Delores in the kitchen. They had baked cookies for the school bake sale and Delores had never felt happier.
Delores frowned, her face pulling in in despair. That was so long ago now, and things had changed so much. Delores was a monster and Anabel was gone.
“I was her mother, I was supposed to protect her,” she cried at her reflection.
Her stomach knotted, tightening and loosening with the threat of vomiting again. She raced out of the bathroom, not bearing to be in the same room with even her own shameful reflection any longer. She sat on the edge of her bed, forcing her lungs to breath slowly, as she stared down at her feet, the chipped pink nail polish almost gone now.
The memories danced in front of her. She rolled sideways and curled into a ball on top of the bed. She closed her eyes, and continued breathing slowly in and out, controlling the tide of sadness and anxiety which was pushing upwards.
She wished she could sleep; she was so tired, but the memories were there, they were always there, just like Michael had said they would be. And just like he had promised, she couldn’t ever escape them.
Not even when she slept.
*
Delores made her way down the hallway, picking up toys and underwear. Jesus Christ, why did no one ever pick up after themselves? She looked into the kids’ room, annoyance clenching in her gut. The beds were unmade, dirty clothes were on the floor, toys strewn around. She had only cleaned it earlier today.
She took a deep, steadying breath. They were only children, of course, but they knew better than to just leave things on the floor for somebody else to pick up. They knew where the washing basket was, they knew to put their toys in the toy box after they had finished with them. She stood in a circle, turning and assessing where to start, because this was her job. This was what she had agreed to do—what she had agreed to be when she’d married Michael. When she’d given up on her career and let him have his instead. She had agreed to be a wife and a mother. To be the care-giver. The housemaid. The cook. The nurse. The teacher…she had agreed to this, she reminded herself.
Delores took another deep breath and set about cleaning.
They were her children, and she loved them dearly, so much so that she constantly ached with the love she felt for them. But it was frustrating, repeating the same thing over and over and over. She sighed again, and placed an armful of dirty clothes in the hamper. She scooped some of the Lego bricks up and dropped them into their rightful tub and placed the tub back into the toy cupboard. She pulled the duvets back on to the beds and cracked the bedroom window open to let in some fresh air.
Glancing outside she could see Anabel splashing in her little blue paddling pool, and Owen was wrestling with his daddy. They were all having fun, indifferent to how miserable she was. How tired she was of the same damn monotonous routine day after day after day. How she loved being a mom and wife, but needed something more than this simple existence.
She sighed and headed back downstairs to make lunch for everyone, because this was her life. It was a life she had chosen, and a life she had promised to fulfil with Michael. To play the part of his good, little wife and a perfect mother.
*
The scream was wrenched free from Delores’s unwilling body and she woke with a start, cutting short the sound as it tore its way out of her mouth. A cold sweat glistened across her body again as if she hadn’t even showered earlier. A mixture of heat and painful reminders.
The towel was open, revealing her bruised naked body to the empty room. She must have thrashed about, as usual. It was dark and she realised that she must have slept for a long time.
She’d had the nightmares, but at least she’d slept longer. Questions tried to surface, memories swam in weed strangled water, but she couldn’t grasp them quick enough to make sense. They slipped through her mind like sand in an hourglass; gone before she could really grasp on to them.
She lay back and stared up at the cobwebbed ceiling, trying to sort through her rambling thoughts, because in them, she knew were the answers. Somewhere, buried beneath the blur of blood and cries, behind the folds of insanity, the truth was waiting for her.
The minutes unfolded, leaving her even more bewildered and confused, and she gave up trying to work out what was trying to be said. Though her muscles ached from being so tense, she felt ready to move again.
She stood up, leaving the crumpled damp towel on the bed and dressed in fresh clothes; jeans and a short-sleeved white tee. She’d seen people staring at her scars, scars that she wasn’t completely sure where they came from. They were much like the bruises she found on her skin; there one day with no recollection of how they got there. But it didn’t matter anymore, they were irrelevant to everything now.
She didn’t matter.
Only they mattered; Anabel and Owen. The two most important people in her life, other than her husband. Their vengeance was what was important, and she would give them that. She would give them all that.
Delores ran her fingers through her tangled locks and swiftly tied it back into a ponytail at the nape of her neck. She packed her meagre items back into her backpack, being extra careful with specific items, and then she took it out to her car, before dropping her key into the key return box at the end of the hall.
It was late, or early, whichever way you looked at it, and she didn’t want the desk clerks prying concerned eyes on her again. She’d frightened him earlier, she’d seen the worry and the fear in his face when he’d looked at her. Almost like she was wearing her guilt like a badge.
Delores climbed back into her car, glancing across and seeing that the red Ford was no longer there, and feeling thankful. The throb of her constant headache had returned and she reached into her purse, once again overlooking several bottles and favouring the aspirin instead. She shook two out, noticing that it was nearly empty. She swallowed them whole, the bitter taste a reminder that she needed to buy a fresh bottle of water. She drank the last of the warm water and then she dropped the bottle back into the foot space of the passenger seat.
The engine started with a roar and Delores backed out of the space and drove out on to the dark highway, eager to make some progress. She glanced back as the flashing lights at the motel lit up the inside of the car. She hadn’t noticed the police and ambulance when she had been packing everything away. So wrapped up in her own misery as usual. She thought about going back, maybe they would need to speak to whoever had been staying at the motel. Then again, maybe it was nothing and none of her damn business.
Michael was always telling her she stuck her nose in where it wasn’t wanted.
