A soft breeze trailed over her skin, a prickling of goosebumps following in its wake. There were many reasons that she’d wanted to come here, reasons that this place had been where she had needed to go so that she could slip into the other world.
It was a dream she’d had as a child, a memory lost but not forgotten. Her father, his strong hand holding on to hers, the smell of his skin, of sweat and cigars, and his handsome rugged face staring down at her. He’d promised that he would take her to see the Grand Canyon. He’d told her that his father had taken him as a child, and that one day, he would take Delores. That they would walk hand in hand and sit side by side where he had sat with his own father. He had sworn it would happen, that it would be a tradition, a blessing, a promise. From father to son, and son to daughter. And one day, she too would bring her children.
But it had never happened.
In her sleep, Delores stirred. The warmth of the sun was hot on her face, her normally pale cheeks had turned pink from the soft glow. In her sleep, she slipped on her sunglasses and smiled, content that she was finally here, at her most treasured place. That she was finally with her father again after everything that had happened.
“Del’, wake up.”
Michael’s voice clawed at her. The scratched grate of annoyance teased her senses and roused her from sleep.
“Wake the hell up,” he grumbled, not aware that she was stirring.
Delores’s eyelids flickered, and as she awoke, the voices claimed her mind once more. The sinking depression burrowed back into her skin like hives. She opened her eyes, the blurry image of Michael bearing down on her.
“You’re finally awake then,” he said, his voice devoid of emotion.
He’d changed clothes. His suit was pressed, his shirt was crisp, his hair parted to one side and looking slick and smart. His eyes, the ones that she had once found so appealing now frightened her the most. They were cold, yet burning with rage, a simmering of anger flying just below his surface.
“You were smiling,” he said coldly, his voice like pouring salt in her open wounds. “In your sleep just now. You were smiling.” His lips were pulled down in distaste for her, and shame wracked her body.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice hoarse, her throat dry. She moved her head to one side, looking for water. There was normally a jug of warm water next to her bed, but today it was gone. She licked her cracked lips, her dry tongue making no difference.
“You should be. It’s disgusting,” he returned.
Delores stared up at him, his once handsome face contorted with his deep-rooted ugliness. The lines around his eyes seemed more prominent, the shadows under his eyes darker and thicker. She nodded in agreement.
“I’m disgusting,” she muttered.
“You are,” he sneered.
She nodded again. He hated her. She didn’t blame him. She was a hateful creature. She had killed her children.
“I don’t know why I did it,” Delores whispered, her gaze travelling to the window. The sun was slinking away as the moon came out of hiding. The blackness of night immortalising as the daytime evaporated. “Do you know why I did it?” she begged. “I love them so much.”
Michael didn’t reply.
He stayed silent, his shadow looming over her.
His presence dominated the small space in the room.
She could feel him, the heat radiating from his body despite the coolness of the room. His body always was too hot, his temperature always a degree too much. Delores had hated bedtime. She had always wanted to sleep naked, with the window cracked open to help cool her down. Michael’s presence in the bed had always made her too hot, and he’d insisted that he hold her. His arms wrapped tightly around her slight frame, smothering her. Suffocating her with his dominance. By morning her pajamas were damp, clinging to her body with a light sheen of sweat.
Michael had always grimaced as he’d looked at her, as he’d taken in her sweaty breasts where his hands had held her tight all night, her bed hair and morning breath a displeasure to him. He always insisted that she turn over, her bottom raised to the air so that he didn’t have to look at her face while he took his fulfilment of her body.You’re not your best in the morning,he’d always say to her,I’m sure you’ll agree it’s better like this.
And afterwards he would get up and shower and then go to work. No thanks, no kiss, no hug. Delores was merely there for his enjoyment. She was his cook, his cleaner, the woman who bore his children. She was his toy to use as he saw fit.
But she had never minded, not too much. She understood her place in life, and she knew how lucky she was that a man like Michael had swept her off her feet and married her. She was, after all, damaged goods. Her mind was fragile and shaky.
She was lucky, she told herself daily. So, so lucky.
Until one day, she realised that perhaps she wasn’t so lucky. That perhaps she deserved more.
*
‘Del’! Where are you?’ Michael’s voice screeched through the front door, the loud slam of the wood in the frame coming seconds after. ‘Del’!’ he bellowed again.
Delores lay in the bath, the bubbles covering her nakedness like a blanket of clouds. That’s where she was right now, floating on a blanket of clouds, her mind swimming with possibilities. It was eleven fifteen. The kids were at school and she had done her morning yoga session, and now she was relaxing her aching muscles.
