NanoWrimo - 30 short stories

[deathpixie]

"Clean yourself up," he said, looking down on her with contempt, before turning and walking out.

She crawled to the bathroom, the pain too great for her to stand. Using the doorway to pull herself up, she groped for the switch with a shaking hand, wincing in the sudden brightness. Looking at herself in the mirror was almost as painful - she hated to see herself this way, the proof of her stupidity - but she had to do as she was told. She ran hot water, dumped in some antiseptic and set to dabbing at her face. At least her nose wasn't broken this time.

Her mother had sworn by salt and bicarbonate to get bloodstains out of carpet; she often wondered how she'd discovered that, or why she'd thought to pass the information on, but she was always grateful for it. Leaving the mix to soak in, she changed her clothes, collected the sheets from the bed, the towels from the bathroom, and took it all down to the laundry room. Stain remover for the stains, plenty of detergent, lukewarm water... it was a routine of sorts. It helped.

When he returned, she was sitting at the kitchen table, sipping gingerly at a cup of tea. The bed was made, the carpet and walls cleaned, her face made up to hide the worst of the bruising. As he lay his hands on her shoulders, she only flinched a little.

"Hi, honey," she said, forcing the smile.

"Hi yourself," he said, squeezing her shoulders gently. "Good day?"

She thought of those hands balled into fists, ploughing into her face, the taste of her own blood on her tongue, scarlet smears on the walls... All cleaned up, all traces gone, except for the marks on her face under the concealer, letting them pretend nothing had happened, that nothing would happen again.

"Oh, you know," she replied airily. "The usual."