My Mother Runs With Wolves- Excerpt

Red.

The stupid marble countertop was soaked in a hauntingly red colour. I clenched the blue rag in my hand tightly as my tears mixed with the blood. A knock sounds from the door of the apartment before it opens.

“Kelly,” the voice is practically a whisper. “I came as soon as I saw the text.” August moves towards me and places his hand gently on my shoulder. “Kelly,” he calls again. I turn my head to look at him while bringing my right hand up to wipe away some tears.

Red.

Blood from my hand smears onto my face and a small, horrified scream exacapes my mouth. I turn away from August and grasp onto the now red countertop as my heart tries to beat out of my chest.

“I can clean this mess up Kelly. You can go take a shower now.” He places his hand on top of mine. “You can go take a shower now Kelly.”

“No,” I shout as I grab my hand away from his. “No.” My voice catches in my throat and I bite my lip. I hold the blue rag to my chest as if it is my lifeline. As if the moment I let go of it I drown.

“Kelly just let me take care of it. Let me help you.” August reaches for me again but I flinch away. “Kelly let me help you.”

He keeps saying my name as if to remind me. As if I had simply forgotten it because of what happened.

“I can do it.” He raises his hand in surrender and backs away at my words.

He watches as I scrub away at the red marble countertop trying to make it white again. “What happened Kelly. You’re text wasn’t exactly coherent.” The only noise that comes from my direction is the squelching of the blood. “Kelly. Come on Kelly tell me what happened.”

I drop the rag on the counter and spin to face him angrily. “I know my name,” I shout. “I don’t need a reminder.” My knees caves in and I fall to the floor.

Red.

I didn’t realize there was blood on the floor. I’m sitting in blood on the floor. A scream escapes from my chest and leaves me gasping for breath. I dig my nails into my thighs to ground me to this plain of reality.

“Kelly…” his voice trails off as he reaches for me.

I push myself into the cupboard and grip tightly onto my forearms. “He wanted to make dinner. He said he wanted to do something for me because I had been working hard and I deserve more than takeout,” my breath catches, “he said I deserved more than takeout. He cut his arm. He was cutting something, the knife slipped and he just kept on cutting. Over and over. I came to check on him and he was in that trance he goes into sometimes. He didn’t hear me when I called his name. I got the knife away from him, pressed a towel against his wrist. Called the ambulance and when they came they whisked him away. But I couldn’t go with him. I had to clean the blood. I had to fix it for him. He doesn’t really like messy things. But he’s not coming back any time soon is he?” I look to august as if I don’t already know the answer.

He shakes his head softly and I collapse in a heap on myself. “I’m sorry.”