Page 25 of Severed Heart
“You can’t lose this job,” she scolds.
“I wish I did get fired. Thensomethingchanges things. Then maybe Alain will do his parts and work.”
“He’s a deadbeat, and I meant what I said. You’re so beautiful, Delphine. Half the men in this town are in love with you. You can do so much better.”
“And you propose another man is the solution?Non, and what you believe is blessing is not for me.”
“What do you mean?” she asks.
“Looking this way causes me to suffer.” I grab another bin as Diane starts to sort.
“How?”
I bite my lip and look over to her. I have trusted Diane with many secrets. Secrets I have told no one. Not even Celine, because of our constant arguments about Alain and my inability to leave him. That I’m ashamed I’ve endured so much in the hope the boy I met and married will return to me, only to bury that hope in the bottle as the years pass. A bottle I ache to sip from now, knowing where it waits in the bathroom stall. The endless cycle strangling me.
Staring over at Diane now, I see her eagerness to hear me, to understand my reasoning. Both of us well aware we are not good for the other in sharing our reasonings for being with men we have no business being with. When Celine and Beau first came to America mere months after I arrived here, I had a brief reprieve from Alain’s abuse. My suspicions are that Beau put a temporary stop to it. These past years, he’s been more volatile than ever, growing more paranoid about Ormand’s affections. The last time he suspected an affair, I wasn’t able to work for two days. Aching for a drink and disgusted by the memory, I let out a long exhale as Diane waits for my response, and I decide to give her some truth.
“When I was very young, too young, my papa friends gave me much attention, which led to much conflicts.” To his death, but I do not admit that much. “In school when I was young, girls treats me much same as they do here. Now, if Alain’s friend compliments me, I . . .” I shake my head. “One friend, Ormand, tells me I look beautiful in my dress on my birthday and have not been allowed to have dinner with any friends again.” Just after, Alain stopped allowing me to participate in many of the meetings, making it impossible for me to be the soldier I desire. Which only led me to drink more.
“Not that I’m defending him,” Diane says, “but you are the kind of beautiful that drives men crazy.”
“I know,” I say, chewing on my lip.
“Modest, too,” she laughs.
“Iknow,” I tell her, “this is not too much confidence. Is too much attention. I hate it. But what do I do?Uglymyself?”
“Not much you can do.”
“I can get fat,” I say. “But I do not want to.”
“That’s ridiculous. You don’t throw looks like yours away because of other people’s insecurities.”
“Alain is so...” I pause, searching for the word. “Jealousyness.”
“Jealous?”
“Yes, so many days I feel a prisoner of our house.” I blow out a long breath. “I look like that hag”—I point to Donna—“I become free of many conflicts.”
Diane grips my wrist. “I’m sorry things are so hard for you here, Delphine. I know this isn’t the life you pictured, but things will get better. They will.”
“I do not see this,” I say, aching to sip the bottle in the stall.
“Yeah, honestly, I’m not feeling too optimistic myself these days.” She turns to me, her eyes shining with fear. “I have something to tell you, and I haven’t told anyone yet.” Just as she opens her mouth to speak her confession, we both jump at the sound of her summons.
“Johnston,” our crew leader snaps from feet away, and I know it is on Roman’s behalf.
Diane turns to me, a gleam in her eyes but an apology on her lips.
“I’m sorry. I told him to stop doing this.”
“Go, be the happy one for us both.” I wave her away, knowing I will be the one spending the next half hour of my shift to work alone.
“I promise that’s not the case,” she relays mournfully before she stalks away.
Not long after I’ve taken long sips of the bottle I hide in the bathroom stall, I study my reflection in the breakroom mirror—the yellow bruise on my chin noticeably lighter today. Alain has been too preoccupied lately to do more than the minimum to keep me obedient and rutting into me before he passes out. Even with that attention, he can barely finish. Back aching and dreading the long hours ahead, I turn and exit the bathroom and am stopped short when I see Donna and a few of the whispering women in wait for me.
“Your bodyguard isn’t here now, bitch.” Rolling my eyes down her frame, I pause them on the pair of purple boots Donna often wears. I think Diane called them Doc Martens.
