Page 27 of The Bones We Break
“I’m coming darlin’ hold on!” What sounds like a southern twang becomes clearer as the woman gets closer to me. Suddenly, from the chaos of the office, a short lady with greying hair in hot pink rollers comes into view, an unlit cigarette hanging from her thin lips. The bronzeness of her skin almost looks like she’s been sitting in the sun for too long without any protection on, or she’s a fan of the sunbeds, either way it suits her, strangely. She continues to push things to the side to clear a path in the chaos. The woman’s wrists are covered in silver and gold bangles all clattering together anytime she moves her hands.
This eccentric woman finally makes it to the desk in front of me before sitting on the chair. She begins to lift up the pieces of paper, some falling to the floor in the process until she finds whatever she’s been looking for.
“Got ya, ya little sucker!” I stand dumbfounded at her. She produces a silver zippo lighter and flicks it in one swift movement, an orange flame instantly sparks to life and she brings it to the end of her unlit cigarette, squinting her eyes she starts to puff the nicotine in, plumes of smoke escape from her mouth and nose before she flicks the lighter closed and takes the cigarette between her polished fingernails. My eyes follow her every movement until she brings her face to mine and I instantly feel a sense of comfort from her. Her silver, grey eyes are warming.
“Excuse my appearance, sweetheart, we don’t get many folk ‘round here so I use this time to glam up a bit.” I smile at her comment and shake my head.
“It’s.. it’s okay. I um, I’m looking for a room?” I stutter out. The lady scans my face for a moment. I can feel her grey eyes landing on the bruises and cuts that litter my skin, but she doesn’t comment.
“Well, sure darlin’ I have plenty free. It’s cash only, is that alright?” She asks and I’m instantly relieved considering I only have the cash my father gave to me.
My father. The letter!
He wrote to let the woman at the motel know he was the one to send me here. “This might sound strange.” I start. “But my father Michael Murphy sent me here.” I leave the comment floating around in the air to see what she will do with it. Her features instantly change from chirpy to concerned. She begins to look deeper at me, as if she can see right through my broken soul. I shuffle awkwardly on my feet, feeling the burn of her gaze.
“You’re Annabelle Murphy aren’t you?” She questions and I pause, unsure of whether to give her my real name. “You don’t need to confirm that, sweet. I know exactly who you are and why you’re here.” I release the breath I didn’t realise I was holding and let myself relax against the desk. She places her warm hand over mine on the desk and I instantly flinch at the contact but she doesn’t relent, in fact she squeezes it tighter.
“How rude of me!” She scoffs. “I’m Darlene.” She introduces herself before releasing my hand, placing the cigarette back between her lips and lifts a key from the wall. I follow her every movement until she exits the quaint office and rounds the desk, coming face to face with me. Darlene’s only a little bit shorterthan I am but her big bouncy hair definitely makes up the height difference. She gently places a hand on my shoulder and guides me out of the entrance, through a set of double doors where the weathered carpet leads into a hallway. Wooden doors line each wall, the numbers going up in order as she continues to guide me down until we stop in front of a door on the left hand side. The number twelve faces back at me.
Darlene stands at the side of me, the smoke from her cigarette still billowing around her, like an extinguished candle. She pushes the key into the gold lock and turns it before opening the door for me. “Come on in, darlin’ you’re safe here.” She tilts her head towards the open door and I do as she says.
The room is dark until Darlene makes her way over the small bedside unit to flick the light on, casting a warm glow over the furniture. A double bed takes up space in the middle of the room, two mismatched bedside tables sit at either side of it, both with worn metal lamps sat on top. The burgundy carpet from the entrance and the hallway cover the space in here too. There’s a double window on the far right wall with red curtains that are drawn open, the clear night sky and moonlight beam into the room creating an ethereal glow on the bed. There’s also a wardrobe in the far corner and a set of drawers pushed up next to it.
I won’t be staying here long enough to unpack. I just need to clean myself up, have a somewhat good sleep and then move on, without a car somehow. Darlene’s raspy voice breaks my inner thoughts.
“I know it’s not much but, it’ll do you. There’s also a bathroom through that door.” She points to the other corner of the room locating the bathroom for me. “There’s a sink, and a shower with hot water.”
“Take all the time you need here darlin’, there’s also a little shop at the side of us if you need anything extra or treat yourself to a lil snack!” She says with such humour and I instantly smile at her. Dropping the heavy bag on the bed, my body instantly thanks me for the reprieve, my shoulders slump and ache from the weight. Turning on my feet, I face Darlene who’s now standing in the doorway.
“Thank you, Darlene. For everything.” I say, my voice is small but grateful. “I only need to be here for a couple of days so please let me know how much the room-” She cuts me off.
“You won’t be paying meanything,sweetheart. Your father wanted you to be here, to be safe from the monster you’re running from and that’s what I’m gon’ provide. I won’t hear any more about it.” I stand here, my mouth slightly open, like I’ve been scolded by a parent but I don’t mind it. Words evade my mouth.
“Good girl! Get some rest, darlin’.” She spins on her feet, smoke from her burnt out cigarette follows her as she leaves the room and closes the door behind her.
Exhausted, I slump down on the bed. The mattress is firm but comfortable enough, and I lie back, careful of the wound on the back of my head. Staring up the white ceiling I go over everything that’s happened in the past couple of hours. The attack on Ricky is at the forefront of my mind. I can’t help but still be concerned about him, even after everything he’s done, almost like he’s conditioned me to feel that way. I have no idea where to go from here, or how to get away from here without a car. I need to use this cash wisely. Lifting my hands to my eyes, I force the heels of my palms into the sockets until bursts of colours explode behind my eyelids, then drop them, and bring myself up, the motion sends a dizzying wave over me for a moment.
Regaining my composure, I grab the bag and pull the zip open, and dig around in the contents until I find a basic t-shirt and grey sweatpants and some clean underwear. After moving in with Ricky I managed to keep a box of old clothes hidden in the back of the wardrobe in case I ever needed them. I guess that time would be now.
Grabbing my clothes I make my way over to the bathroom, my hand fumbling around on the wall until I grab the stringfor the light and pull. The old fluorescent bulb flickers to life, starting off as a dim glow before illuminating the room in a pale white light. In the small bathroom, there’s a basic white toilet and matching sink lining the wall, the porcelain is chipped and cracked in places and a small shower cubicle sits against the opposite wall. A cloudy plastic cubicle encases the shower head. I place my clothes on the closed lid of the toilet and open the creaky shower door before reaching in and turning the dial to start the water. It only takes a couple of minutes for the water to come through, it sputters then starts to stream through the shower head, steam starts to fill the room.
Carefully, I begin to undress, easing the jumper over my head and laying it on the toilet with my clean clothes, then I drop my arms out of the ripped blouse before letting the tattered material fall to the floor, and unfasten my trousers. Stepping out of them, I discard them with the torn blouse. Reaching behind my back I unclasp my bra, letting it fall freely along with my underwear that I choose to throw away with the rest of my clothes. The memory of Ricky shoving his hand into pants fires into my mind and I have to steady myself with the sink. The sickening image flicked across my eyes like an old film.
After a minute I climb into the shower, the hot water bounces off my skin like heavy rain. I lift my chin and tip my head back until my hair is soaked, standing still for a moment, my arms wrapped around my middle, I relish in the warmth the water is providing. Bringing my head forward, droplets of water begin to trail down my face, landing delicately on my eyelashes, and I bring both my hands to my face to wipe them away. Carefully, I pushed my fingers into the back of my hair, attempting to feel how big the cut was on my head. My fingertips brush over the gash and I wince, but luckily it doesn’t feel too deep and it should hopefully heal on its own. I can’t risk going to thehospital in case I’m recognised or Ricky already has people looking for me. I already know in my heart that my husband isn’t the type of person to let me go so easily.
Luckily there’s already a shampoo and conditioner bottle on the shower floor. Relief hits me instantly at the thought of being able to properly wash my hair. Squeezing the shampoo into the palm of my hand, I place the bottle back down and rub my palms together, creating a floral scented foam in my hands before massaging it into my hair, careful of the wound. The sensation of my fingers running over my scalp has me leaning my head back and closing my eyes. A small pleasure in this deadly situation. Rinsing the bubbles away, a slightly pink tinge colours the water before running clear again. I repeat the process with the conditioner, then I manage to wash my body with a bar of soap and my hands. It’s not the best but it’s better than nothing. Wrapping my hands around my hair I squeeze out the excess water and step out of the shower, my skin pebbling from the cold. I search the room until I find a grey towel hung on a rail on the wall, and run the scratchy material over my hair before patting my body dry, being extra careful around the cuts and bruises that litter my skin. In a haste I quickly dress to fight off the cold and hang the towel back up to dry. Bringing my hand up to the mirror above the sink I wipe away the condensation, revealing myself. The darkness of my natural hair is starting to break through the cheap, fake blonde that I’ve always hated, but never had the balls to change, even more so when Ricky started to make comments on it.
“It looks cheap.”
“You look like a fucking stripper.”
I hear his voice so clearly in my head that I have to cover my ears to block out the nightmare. I’ve never seen my face so unrecognisable before, so empty and lifeless.
A carcass.
My eye sockets are sinking in, a bluish hue covers the delicate skin. The gash on my forehead has begun to heal but now a purplish bruise has begun to bloom around the wound, along with a matching one that’s turning slightly yellow on my cheek bone. Letting go of my ears I bring my fingertips to the bruises, the pads of my slim fingers ghosting over the damage, and I lift my chin to see the same bruises litter my neck, like a horrifying dog collar. The indentations of Ricky’s fingers wrap all the way around, like the ghost of his hand is still there. I drop my head and quickly escape the bathroom, not wanting to look at myself any longer.
I make a mental note of finding a bag to put the old clothes in to throw away when I leave, I can’t leave any evidence left behind that I’ve been here. I need to become a ghost. Like I never existed in the first place.
