Monique

The Party

The party's over.  

She leans on the wall staring absentmindedly at the brush marks that smudge the cream surface. She's been this way for over three hours, staring at nothing, thinking of John, and praying he'd return. She finds it ironic. She doesn't even pray. The only time she does is when she knows she's screwed for the maths test she somehow forgot to study for.  

People's voices have been swirling around in her brain for the past three hours like an annoying itch: her mother's endless bickering about how she's almost an adult, her father roaring over the stereo whilst drinking some beer with her uncles, Nicki Minaj's high pitched, over styled American rapping, her aunties' gossips, and her cousins and friends endless chatter.

She's been out of it for three hours. Shrugging, nodding and shaking her head when she feels like it. Her mother asked what was wrong. Her aunties wanted to know. Her father glanced at her for two seconds. Her cousins were too busy looking at pictures of Justin Bieber. Her friends were watching scenes from Magic Mike of Channing Tatum stripping.

She's wanted to scream for three hours. She's wanted to howl his name hoping he'd hear her in space and return to her. But as she cuts the cake with a scowl on her face and gloats at the window, she feels trapped. She bows her head as the house caves in on her.

Her mum looks at her like she's an ungrateful child.

Her aunties keep on gossiping.

Her father drinks his beer.

Nicki Minaj keeps rapping about fucking people.

Her cousins sing to Justin Bieber.

One of her friends calls her a bitch and a party popper.

Touché.

Now the party's over. Everyone's gone and she's left all alone with the dirty dishes, the half-consumed mutilated cake, the turned over chairs, Nicki Minaj's annoying voice in the background, bits of paper and plastic on the floor and the shitty weather outside.

"Don't forget to take your pills," her mother says as she climbs up the stairs. She's pissed. Monique can feel it. It's like a foul odour in the air. She doesn't care. She just wants John back. She watches her mum slowly disappear upstairs into the small golden light.

Lightning cracks like a witch's laugh and Monique flinches. She needs John. She wants John. She removes her gaze from the window and begins putting all the rubbish in a big, black, plastic bag thinking of how it would make an efficient body bag. Watching Law and Order is finally coming in handy.

She slams her hand on the stereo pressing the stop button in the process. The rapping and autotune has been terminated. She ignores the dishes in the sink. She can't be bothered with them. Her mum will probably put them in the dishwasher in the morning. Instead, she sits on the table and stuffs her mouth with the six thousand dollar Barbie cake her mum had specially ordered for the party.

No wonder her friends thought she was like a six-year-old.

She doesn't give a damn anymore. It tastes good. Food is a girl's best friend when she's depressed.

Monique wishes John is by her side as her stomach constricts, telling her to stop eating. She wishes she could play a game of chess with him. She smiles at the thought of it. He'd probably whip her arse during the game. He always does.

She places the tattered remains of the cake in the fridge and takes the two pills prescribed by the doctor for a medical condition she's never understood. She heads upstairs before turning off all the lights. She closes the curtains in her bedroom and lies back on her bed.

Monique feels a large lump rise in her throat as she tries not to cry. John is meant to be here. He promised he would never leave. He never breaks a promise. Once he promised to give her a diamond worth a million dollars. She didn't believe him until he gave her one after she received an award for her artwork at school. She didn't deem the diamond's worth until she showed it to her father.

He took it away from her and bought a bigger house for them to live in.

Monique fights the urge to cry. She's not strong. She's never been strong. She's crap at maths. She's shit at laundry. She fails science and barely makes it through guitar lessons.

She rolls over on her side and raises her knees to her chest. Damn him. Damn him for leaving her. Her eyes feel as if they're on fire as her gaze falls on the letter on the bedside table. She turns the other way and stares at her wooden wardrobe. When she was little, she believed in Narnia. That's why she begged her parents to get her a wooden wardrobe. She believed it'd take her to the magical world of fauns, talking beasts, centaurs, Minotaurs and Aslan himself.

Monique almost snorts at her stupidity. She can barely recount how many times she's entered the wardrobe trying to find Narnia. She even got stuck inside once. She remembers the first time she went inside the wardrobe. She had put on her warm boots, coats and beanie. She even packed some snacks and tea for Mr Tumnus.

She had entered the wardrobe expecting to feel the snow on her fingers and prickly leaves on her face. She felt nothing. The cool, hard, wooden surface of the back of wardrobe shattered her dream. Of course, she told herself she had done something wrong and read The Lion, the witch and the wardrobe, over and over again. Every day she tried to enter Narnia with no avail. She even forced her mum to take her to Harvey Norman so she could try and enter Narnia. They were kicked out after she tried three wardrobes.

She decided there was something wrong with her wardrobe. She asked her dad about the wardrobe. Was it made from an apple tree? Was it from England? He looked at her as if she had grown three horns on her head and said she should go and get ready for school. She persisted. She groaned. She moaned. She yelled. She screamed. She wasn't a brat. She just wanted to go to Narnia. She wanted to know magic was real. She wanted to talk to Aslan. She wanted to experience the adventure the Pevensie children had when they arrived in the magical world. She wanted to defeat the white witch, sail to the end of the world and fight battles.

Her father finally turned to her and told her magic didn't exist. Narnia didn't exist. It was all a lie. She needed to shut up and eat her cereal.

That was the first time bitter tears fell from her eyes and slithered down her cheeks before dripping onto the marble table.

Monique removes her eyes from the wardrobe as the room door creaks open. She can still hear the thunder outside. The heavy beating of the rain on the roof overwhelms her senses. She hears the faint sounds of footsteps as they near her bed.

"Monique darling." Monique bites the inside of her mouth. Only her mother would call her darling. "What's wrong?" The bed gives a small shrill as her mum sits beside her. The bed never squeaked when John sat beside her. Monique shrugs. A deep sigh comes from her mum. She runs her hand through her hair. Monique almost recoils from her touch. Almost. "Come on darling. What's wrong?"

Monique grits her teeth. "It's John."

Her mother's jaw hardens for a split second. Monique instantly regrets telling her anything. Her mother smiles. It's a fake one. A Barbie's smile. Monique does nothing. She doesn't say a word. "Have you taken your pills darling?" Her mother says.

Monique wants to hit her across the face.