The Burning of the Palace at Versailles (or, Butterfly) [REWRITING]

Chapter 21 - Mascara Tears

Melody really did look like a bride. That was something she hadn't thought about in a long time. She and Thomas had mentioned marriage a few times when they were dating. It was always quick little things said in passing: "When we have our own house," or "our kids are going to love this." It was never serious, especially on Melody's part on the rare times when she said anything like that. Thomas said it more often, and Melody knew he meant it much more than she ever did. She always knew he meant it seriously, like it was obvious that one day they would share a home, two children, and a dog— a terrier, obviously, because Thomas had grown up in a home with terriers. They would live in the suburbs of Chicago, maybe even move to New York. Every day, except maybe the coldest days of winter, they would go for walks along the lakefront, holding hands and making sure the kids stayed close. It was all so clearly planned out for them.

Except Melody never wanted anything he ever said. The vision of the house and the children always seemed like a lie to her. Every time Thomas said anything, the vision never came true. He saw it; she did not. So maybe Melody should have seen the breakup coming. If she couldn't see herself as a bride, he never would either. Their ideals were different.

But she'd disillusioned herself. She had imagined that if they just stayed the same, things would never change.

How wrong she was.

"Hey, are you okay?" Diana asked. Jordan lowered the compact and looked at Melody. "You look like you're going to cry."

Melody felt her nose begin to burn and her eyes went watery. Diana reached a hand out, and Melody let out a harsh sob. Diana's hand went back, and she held both hands over her heart. Jordan jumped back as if she had been burned. They both stared, which made Melody feel even more embarrassed. But she continued to cry, huge heaving sobs that hurt her abdomen muscles. Diana let out a sigh and gave Melody a small, gentle smile. Melody tried to say something, but all that came out was a watery hiccup. So she continued to cry hot tears. Mascara-black droplets fell onto her hands and the bed, and she knew she had messed up all the work Diana and Jordan had done. Of course she had messed it up.

Jordan stood and left the room. Diana reached into the pocket of her sweatpants and pulled out a handkerchief. She brought it to Melody's face and started wiping away the tears. Even on the first swipe, Melody saw how the white cloth immediately turned a shade of foundation that was a little too pink for Melody's skin tone.

"You know," Diana said, "my friend was a huge crier. Kara, I mean. She would cry at the end of any movie that was even remotely sad or sappy. Kara cried at those dog commercials on TV, you know, the ones with the song? We always felt bad for laughing, but it's kinda silly, right? We see those commercials all the time these days, you'd think one day she'd stop crying. But Kara had a big heart. You ever meet anyone like that?"

She was just talking for the sake of talking. Melody knew that. But she appreciated the gesture. Melody always preferred when people chose to pointedly ignore her breakdowns. Whenever she was coddled or given looks or pity or disgust she always felt worse. It wasn't normal to burst into tears or fits of rage that also made her burst into tears, and she knew that.

That was one of the few things she appreciated in college— when she would start crying in the library or in public bathrooms, people ignored her because they thought they knew how she felt. Everyone in college felt stressed, tired, homesick, or any combination of the three. It was normal to cry, so she could cry.

But once she had graduated and her father was dead, she found herself crying more often and suddenly it wasn't normal. When she was sitting at her desk at work and had a blank document in front of her and the words didn't come to her, she had to focus all of her energy on keeping the tears inside. Because in the real world, grown adults Did. Not. Cry.