Past the Fireworks

She wiped the floor with perfumed water to rid it off the rancid smell of sweat, vomit and alcohol. She had laboured for long hours and the sun had risen in this time. It shone now through the half open window, putting shadows on the pile of empty bottles. Wiping sweat off her forehead she straightened her prematurely aching back.

She walked over to the long mirror and examined herself. Her one eye was blackened. Her right elbow was twisted in an odd angle and her jaw had a slight inclination to one side. She gently touched the scars covering her soft skin, imagining them vanish under her fingertips.

“New year, new me”, she whispered with a crooked smile. The irony of it all. She turned around and walked towards her husband. The sight of him, lying with his mouth open and a half-finished bottle of beer hanging from his palm made her sick. Resentment, disgust and fear battled for her attention.

She had been so in love with him. He had made her feel like she was the only woman on the planet. His love had opened in her heart a space deep enough to make her stand the pain and sorrow he gifted her. She didn’t think it was domestic violence. He hit her because he couldn’t help it. She shouldn’t have made him angry. She should have done her duties right. It was her fault.

Until last night. As the firecrackers lit the night sky and her husband’s palm split her skin with a crackling slap, she realised she was not at fault. He was an animal, a brute. She had no need to be his, to act at his beck and call. She owed it to herself to show her the mercy and love she deserved.

She gave him one last kiss on the forehead. She had done her duties for the day. She went to her room and returned dragging a bag behind her. Looking at the mirror, she saw a shadow of her past. Opening the door, she gave the house one last sweeping glance before closing it behind her. It was time to do her duty to herself. “New year, new me” she whispered again with a smile.