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Guiltless Peace

Shelly pulled down her sleeve to cover the dried blood splatter. She was in the same clothes as she wore before it happened last night. Jim wasn’t conscious, so why did it matter if she stayed for a few hours after to rest from the trauma.

 

Heads subtly turned as she shuffled past in her harlequin tights, high heels, and a skirt her dad would’ve described as “a belt”.

 

Shelly thought her top was “cute”, but the lady that just walked past her couldn’t hide her shock when she saw Shelly’s top was exactly what was selected this morning as the bra she always picked out when she wanted to feel unknowingly sexy and powerful in the office. Completely unaware, Shelly coughed up some phlegm and spat it on the floor as a lady walked past with her young son on the way to school.

 

Shelly stopped briefly as she noticed the phlegm was red – blood red. The brief pause was to allow her mind to ask – ‘Yours?’ She shrugged, uninterested in the answer, and carried on.

 

A little trickle down her hand grabs her attention. Maybe not all the blood had dried yet. She wiped it on the window of the bakery she passed – creating the unwanted window display to supplement their fresh Halloween doughnuts that steamed the inside of the glass slightly.

 

Shelly looked ahead to a man sitting cross-legged in a sleeping bag with a sign in front of him – homeless, for sure, she thought. Then she noticed his new Nike Air trainers. At this point, a lady in a nice overcoat – possibly mid-30s, life together type – walked past the man sitting on the floor, without as much as a glance. She was approaching as Shelly extended her arm fully, with her middle finger proudly following the lady’s face. The lady sidestepped Shelly – confused, scared.

 

Shelly then walked over to the man on the floor. She stood there long enough for the man to become confused too. She wasn’t reaching for coins or speaking – so why was she there? She smiled a big wide sarcastic smile she last used many years ago for her school photo when she was playing up in front of her friends. But today, the once tiny pearly whites were now blood-soaked. The man cowered at the sight. Shelly, now content, continued home.

 

*

 

The bath water was cold – the boiler still had not been fixed. As she got in, her whole body felt numb. Her clothes were trying to float, but were being held down by her body – even her shoes were still on. She sank fully into the bath. The water spilled out over the edges of the tub as her head submerged.

 

The dried blood that had precariously, and temporarily, cauterised the slashes on her wrist evaporated and the wound opened once more. The water started clouding a dusty scarlet.

 

There was a moment of peace that Shelly had never felt before. Her hair floated up past her face as a few bubbles escaped from her nose.

 

The bath was now a deep crimson, and the light was fading.

 

The vision of Jim’s fist flying towards her last night jumped into her mind, and her eyes opened suddenly with fright under the water. Then a smile slowly encroached her face once more as she remembered him passing out due to the final Sambuca shot he downed as Shelly had laid on the floor, staring at the tooth he knocked out of her mouth with his fist.

 

It was that moment that she realised, 27 years of suffering was enough.

 

The last few pumps excreted from her wrist as the air finally released from her lungs.

 

Her body, suspended in violence, was finally at peace.

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