The Emerging Writer Volume 1. | Page 7

His eyes dart around, sure that you’re alone in the dimly lit hallway. Finally they rest upon you, full of cold fury. You flinch. ‘What were you thinking? I told you not to talk about that. It was such a simple request and you couldn’t even do that.’ His whispers are slaps, each striking with a frightening accuracy. ‘I-I’m sorry. She asked me. I didn’t know what to do.’ ‘You didn’t know what to do,’ he sneers. ‘Well take a note here. If you ever embarrass me in front of anyone like that again...’ His hand grips the fleshy upper of your arm as he pulls you to him, his fingers digging in. His pupils are dilated, the brown in them no longer visible. They look empty. ‘Never again, you hear me?’ He shakes your arm hard, waiting for an answer. ‘Never.’ The words die at your lips. There’s a pause before his hand loosens; before he drops your arm like it’s garbage. You’re nothing more than dirt to him. You disgust him. ‘Go clean yourself up. You’re a mess.’ Straightening his jacket he walks back to the party, not even glancing back at you. You wait for a drunken man to pass before heading for the ladies room. Women are preening in the mirrors, painting themselves with lipstick as you slip unnoticed into a tiny stall. The metal lock tumbles and you sit down silently. You bring your knees up beneath your chin as you cry silently to yourself. You are careful not to make a sound, not one, as you hold yourself and break in the cramped stall. No sounds. No sniffing. Don’t breathe in. Don’t breathe out.