Color Her Red

by Crystal Shaw

  “It’s okay.” I swallow hard and push the tears away with my other hand. I don’t know what to say. My body is heavy and empty. The room is filled with bright light. I look to the windows; pink peonies line the sill. I don’t know how long I have been asleep.

  “What time is it?” I ask weakly.

  “It’s nine,” Kate whimpers as she pulls herself up into a chair sitting next to me. She doesn’t let go of my hand.

  “I’ve been here everyday, but you’ve been sleeping.” She swallows hard. “Dr. Carlson says you’re recovering well.” She moves one hand to rub her eyes and then quickly holds my hand again.

  “How long have I been here?” I attempt to pick my body up and feel a sharp pain in my abdomen, my forearms give way and I collapse on the bed.

  “Five days,” Thomas answers for Kate. He’s across the room; his blue eyes are watching me intently. He looks exhausted and defeated. There’s someone sitting next to him. An older man with grey speckled hair and glasses.

  Kate looks at Thomas and swallows and then looks back at me.

  “I’m happy you’re awake Emma. How are you feeling? Do you need anything?”

  “Sore.” I shake my head and try to move my body again; I’m stiff. Kate manages a small smile.

  “You’re going to be better soon. It’ll take a while for your ribs, but you are healing really fast.” She swallows hard and holds back her tears, moving her eyes to look at the ceiling. I consider asking her what happened. But I know; I remember.

  “Emma, I’m Dr. Koler, you can call me Marc. Do you mind if I talk to you?” The older man is standing at the edge of the bed, looking at me with kind eyes, no sadness. Kate pats my hand and stands up.

  “I’ll be back tonight Emma.” She manages a smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, “Okay?”

  I nod as she lets go of my hand. I watch her walk out of the room giving Thomas a small wave; she holds her head down, still sobbing.

  “Emma?” Marc is sitting now, where Kate was just sitting. Thomas has moved closer to me, he is standing against the wall, with the same smile as Kate, one that doesn’t reach his eyes.

  I look back to Marc, “Yes.”

  “Emma, I want to help you. I’m a psychiatrist.” I look at him with a blank stare, but I feel my head nod.

  “Can you tell me what happened?” I swallow hard and look back at Thomas. He’s closer now, holding onto the bed, refraining from touching me. He moves his hand beside the sheet, palm up, his eyes are full of pain. I reach for his hand and bring him to my chest. He lets out a deep breath. I remember yelling at him, telling him not to touch me. My insides twist and fill with agony.

  “Do you remember what happened?” The doctor looks at me through his glasses.

  I hear myself swallow hard, “Yes.”

  “Do you mind telling me?” I shake my head no.

  “I was in the baby’s room.” Hearing the word makes me cringe, my heart stops and I swallow hard again, concentrating on holding back the tears. “I heard a gun, twice.” The doctor nods his head.

  “Do you know who was there, before you heard the gun?”

  “Yes, Rose left. It was just Calvin and Nate. They were down stairs.”

  “Okay, and then what happened, after you heard the gunshots?”

  “I text Kate, I told her to call the police.”

  “Keep going.”

  “I heard her in the house; I heard her go up the stairs.”

  “What did you do?”

  “I was scared; I didn’t do anything. I just stood there.”

  “And then what happened?”

  “She came into the room. She had a gun in her hands. She was talking.”

  “What did she say?”

  “I don’t remember,” I sigh and close my eyes, tilting my head back into the pillow. Thomas squeezes my hand and sits on a chair next to me. He runs a hand through my hair and kisses me on my forehead. “She said she didn’t care about the baby. She said she gave me a fair warning.” The doctor nods his head, letting me know to continue.

  “I pushed her away and tried to run. She grabbed me and pushed me into the wall. I ran down the stairs and tripped.” I feel Thomas’ hand tighten around mine. “I landed on my stomach, I was bleeding.” I breathe in and out, trying to stay calm, but my body is shaking.

  “Are you alright? Do you want something to drink?” I shake my head.

  “She stood over me with the gun, laughing. She pointed it at my face and I grabbed it. I ran into her, hitting her. She shoved me across the room and came after me. I shot her… three times.” Soft tears are falling down my face. I take small breaths.

  “Do you remember anything else?” He takes off his glasses and looks at me; his eyes are sympathetic but still calm. I bite down on my lip and wipe the tears away with my free hand.

  “I was put in an ambulance. And I was here, screaming. The nurses held me down. The doctor-” I stop myself. I look down at Thomas’ hand with my mouth parted.

  “What about the doctor Emma?” I look over to him.

  “He told me I had a miscarriage.”

  “Do you know when you last talked to the doctor?” I think hard and shake my head. I have no idea.

  “I think yesterday.” I swallow hard and try to calm my breathing.

  “How do you feel?”

  “I’m sore.”

  “Emotionally? How are you handling the situation?” I glance at his face. I don’t know how to respond.

  “I don’t know. I’m sad,” my voice cracks. I swallow hard again. “Could I have water?”

  Dr. Koler nods his head and quickly stands up, “I’ll be right back.” He leaves the room in silence. Thomas leans into me, putting his nose on my cheek, I feel his face, wet with tears. He kisses me on my forehead as I hear tears fall onto the pillow.

  “Don’t cry.” He shakes his head at me and says nothing. He swallows hard, keeping his eyes closed.

  “Here you are.” The doctor is back. He hands me a cup of water in a small paper cup. I sip it. The cool liquid brings substantial relief. I drink all of it. I put the empty cup down gently on the stand next to my bed.

  “Would you like more?” the doctor asks. I shake my head no.

  “Thomas tells me you have been having night terrors, is that true?” I nod my head at him and look down at my hands; my fingers are knotted.

  “What do you dream about?” My guilty eyes meet his gaze. I don’t want to tell him.

  “Do you want to speak with me privately?” My brows furrow and I shake my head.

  “No, I don’t want Thomas to leave me.” I hear Thomas inhale sharply. The doctor shifts in his seat and moves his hand to his chin, his elbow resting on the armrest.

  “Do you think he is going to leave you?” His eyes pierce into me. My breathing quickens.

  “Yes,” I barely speak the truth. I would leave me. I’m a murderer.

  “Emma,” Thomas’ body trembles and he moves his hand to his eyes, harshly rubbing tears away, and then back to my hand. The doctor holds up a hand to Thomas, stopping him from talking.

  “Why do you think he would leave you?”

  “Because of what I did.” My voice is low; I keep my eyes low, watching the sheet move as I breathe.

  “What did you do?” Don’t make me say it.

  “I told you.”

  “Which part of what you told me?”

  “I shot her.”

  “You defended yourself.”

  “I was angry.” I said it. I breathe in quick and swallow.

  “Do you think that being angry made you less of a victim?” My eyes reach his. I nod my head. He sits back in his seat.

  “Emma, anger is a natural emotion to feel when you’re attacked. There’s nothing wrong with being angry.” I don’t respond; I move my eyes back down to the sheet.

  “You’ll learn to cope with your anger and sadness. It will take time, but just like your bones, your psyche will heal.” I still don’t look at him. I don’t cry,
I just sit, watching the sheets move gently as I breathe. How can I cope with this? I feel empty, and unworthy of love. It would have been easier if I had died.

  Epilogue

  It’s been two weeks, two weeks of nothing but writing. If I’m conscious then I’m typing on my laptop in this room. Thomas calls it my office; it’s filled with cardboard boxes that contain books, framed photographs, and other things. They tried to empty them, to set up the room in this new house, but I don’t want them to. I don’t want anyone in here. This is my escape. I will empty the boxes when I’m ready.

  The rest of the house is done. I didn’t do it. I didn’t have a say, not that I wanted one. A peppy blonde who was all smiles decorated it. I just stood there, listening but not hearing, nodding my head in agreement. I was just waiting to come up here, to write it all down.

  I don’t know when the sadness will end. Dr. Koler suggested medicine; he thinks I should be drugged. I don’t want an easy way out, I want to feel the pain and embrace it. I hear footsteps; they are slow and heavy. It could be Thomas or Michael. They both walk slowly around me now. They try to talk to me, but I find it hard to respond. I find it hard to care about what they’re saying. I just want to write it down. I can understand what’s on the screen. The hollow words that turn stale in the air, I can’t understand that. I can’t or I won’t, as the esteemed Dr. Koler would say.

  The door opens; the owner of the echoing footsteps is Michael.

  “Tea, Mrs. Grant?” It’s funny, seeing such a large man hold a tiny saucer, not that I laugh. I bite my lip and nod.

  “Thank you Michael.” He nods. There’s a small smile on his face that doesn’t reach his eyes.

  “When did I become Mrs. Grant?” He looks confused by my question. “Do I have to twist your arm again?” He still doesn’t understand; he seems alarmed. My eyes land on the floor. “Emma, Michael, please call me Emma.”

  “Emma,” he says politely. He has no smile now. He closes the door behind him.

  He’s my only visitor for the week. My mom came last week; Kate has stopped coming altogether. I don’t know what to tell any of them so I say nothing. They both left with the same eyes that Michael wore, eyes riddled with pain and helplessness. Eyes that remember the happiness of the past, but know that it will stay there, in the past. My eyes used to look like that, but now I don’t see anything in them. Now they are just shards of color with no meaning. Thomas’ eyes are different, his soft blues are marbled with pain, but there is hope, not in his voice or his smile, but I can still see it in his eyes.

  Thomas doesn’t hold me in bed like he use to, only when I wake up screaming. That’s the only time he holds me. He tries, but I pull away. I tell him it’s the pain, but he knows I’m lying. He doesn’t fight with me though; he nods his head and goes along with it, leaving me on my own to hold myself. Sometimes I want his touch, after I pull away, but I can’t tell him. I want the distance to grow. He deserves a good life and a wife that can love him. I can’t love anymore; I hate myself.

  More footsteps echo slow and deliberate.

  “Baby, are you ready for bed?” His voice is soft and soothing.

  “Not yet, I’m still writing. Go to bed without me.” He hesitates and nods his head. He doesn’t close the door though. I listen to his footsteps as they disappear.

  I TIP TOE INTO THE ROOM. I don’t want him to hear me. I don’t want to wake him up. I’m quiet as I walk to the other side of the bed, farthest away from the door. I step out of my clothes, making a small pile, and leave my panties on. The duvet is cold but I like the cold on my skin. I slide under the sheets, gently, not disturbing him.

  “How is it coming along?” He isn’t sleeping; his eyes don’t look at me when he speaks. He stares blankly at the ceiling. My body tenses under the sheet.

  “It’s almost ready.” I lie and he sighs, fully aware that I’m lying to him. It’s a sad truth, an unfortunate necessity in our relationship, I lie and he lets me.

  He rolls over and puts his hand on my waist. I stiffen at his touch but he doesn’t stop. He pulls in closer to me, kissing my shoulder. I start to protest but his finger moves to my lips. I feel his hot breath on my neck. My body aches for him but I don’t want him to love me. He moves his body on top of mine; he’s naked, looking as handsome as ever. I admire his physique in the dim light. He pushes my legs open with his knees. Again, I part my lips to protest but he forcefully kisses me, his lips are moist. He nips my bottom lip and runs his teeth along my jaw line to my ear lobe. He pulls gently with his teeth. I let out a small moan. I want this, but at the same time I don’t.

  He comforts my trembling skin with small kisses from my neck down to my collarbone, across my chest, pulling hard on my breasts. He bites down on my nipples, gently pulling them with his teeth as his hands caress my body traveling down the curve of my waist to my hips. His fingers find my panties and he pulls them down, planting kisses on my sensitive skin as he moves lower.

  Hit sits up, his blue eyes piercing into me, searching for approval. His broad shoulders move to mine and he kisses me forcefully but sweetly, his hot tongue in my mouth. He gives me small kisses on my cheek and positions himself. I close my eyes and wait for him to move into me, to take me but he doesn’t. I open my eyes to meet his gaze. He’s waiting; his soft blue eyes are pleading with me. I reach my hands around his neck, pulling him into me and kiss him.

  He pulls my hips close to him and whispers in my ear, “Tell me if I hurt you.” I look into his sad blue eyes and give a small sorrowful nod.

  I’m ready when he enters me. I greet him with warmth and wetness. His touch makes me arch my back, I immediately regret it, and wince at the pain. Thomas moves his arm to brace my back, holding me at the nape of my neck. I wrap my legs around his hips and move my body to meet his. His breath sends a shrill of heat down my body. His movements are steady and deep. I moan in his ear. He kisses my neck, wetting it with his tongue. He moves his hand to my nipple, pinching it and then cupping my breast, squeezing it hard, making me moan louder. His motions pick up bringing me to the edge of pleasure. My hands move to his back and I grab him hard. He responds slamming his hard erection deep into me, letting me find my climax. I toss my head back and cry out.

  “Tell me you want more.”

  “I want more,” I whisper.

  In a swift movement, he picks my body up to straddle him and he moves me onto him. His hand steadies my hips and gently moves lower; his thumb finds my sensitive clit. I moan loudly as he slowly circles around it. He speeds up his motions and puts more pressure on my clit. A wave of pure ecstasy releases from me and I feel myself pulse around him as I moan.

  He kisses me hard, leaving his lips around mine, parted, he breathes heavy and picks up his motions. My body feels weak in his grasp. I grip his shoulders, clinging to him, my breasts pushed against his chest.

  I feel hot moisture between my thighs and I freeze in fear, pushing away from him. He hesitates; his eyes follow my gaze. He grabs me hard slamming into me, kissing my neck.

  “It’s cum Emma, it’s just cum,” he breathes into my ear letting his hot breath send a wave of pleasure down by body. I hold onto him tight, kissing his shoulder.

  “Let me love you again, let me hold you.” I hear his words and I feel pricks at the back of my eyes. His motions don’t slow, I feel myself getting closer. I nod into his shoulder.

  “Tell me,” his voice breaks. I move away from him and see tears clouding his soft blue eyes. I rest my forehead on his as he continues to move deep in me, steady motions bringing me closer. I gasp for air and moan.

  “I will let you love me.” Tears escape my eyes and I bury my head in his neck. He lays me back down and takes me harder. His arm still braces me as his kisses my passionately with a carnal need. I feel the heat rise in my body and the overwhelming sensation culminates as he moves faster, kissing my neck. I reach my climax with his and my body quivers in his arms. His hot breath and warmth surrounds me for a moment before he slowly wi
thdraws and collapses on his side.

  He moves a heavy arm around my body. My first reaction is to pull away, reject his touch, but I’m exhausted and sated and I have promised him that I will let him hold me; I will let him love me.

  After the Red

  Crystal L. Shaw

  Expected

  May 2013

  Chapter 1

  It’s fucking freezing for April. The sun has already called it quits and the gentle wind has progressed into a bitter cold breeze. I look up at the sky, barely tilting my head; dark clouds are setting in. I should’ve grabbed that cardigan. I grumble a small sigh and shake my head, silently scolding myself. It was right there, hung over the dining room chair. I looked at it, but thought, nah I’ll be fine, besides it doesn’t match. Seriously? It’s cream. Neutral matches everything. It’s amazing how much I irritate myself. I attempt to quicken my pace, even though my bare skin is being beaten by the unforgiving winds. This is the only path I know back to the apartment. If it hadn’t been so nice when I left, I would’ve taken the car and avoided all this frustration. Regret. One more regret to add to the growing list.

  The only companions that escort me are the white plastic grocery bags dangling from my arms and the clinking of my heels on the hard concrete sidewalk. Why did I have to take two hours picking out this weekend’s meals? Because you have nothing better to do with your life. You’d rather hide in an aisle of spices you never plan on using, pretending you actually give a damn about recipes that include bay leaves, than face the miserable life you’ve made for yourself. Ouch. My heart sinks and twists into an unforgivable knot in response to my conscious’ honesty. That’s pretty fucked up, and brutal. But true.

  As I think life can’t get much worse than this, Mother Nature takes it as her cue to open up the darkened clouds that plague the sky. A drizzling rain begins to assault me. My apartment is just around the corner, but I can’t run. These damn bags are too heavy; they’re already piercing into the pale, tender skin on my forearms. With my luck, they’re probably going to rip open and spill their contents before I make it to the awning. I let the rain fall onto my face without any attempt in defense. The tiny hairs on my exposed skin stand up straight and send a chill down my spine making me shudder. I feel the familiar prick at the back of my eyes as I turn the corner but, before I can surrender myself to them, I see Michael running towards me, opening an umbrella. I attempt to compose myself, not that I could hide my emotions from Michael. He can read me almost as well as Thomas can.