The Butterfly Effect

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[mention of abuse - descriptive rape scene between warnings]

The faucet was broken. Silver drops hit the bottom of the sink, the rhythmic beats dulling the silence. Her cold hands were draped on her pale knees, clenching her skin like it was a cage. As if she could break the layer of ghostly pale and come out of her shell, her cocoon, and fly far away. Fly free.

A light smile touched her lips. If only she could grow a pair of wings and flutter away; soar to a place he couldn't reach her.

A loud bang came from the door, and Danielle flinched. The sound of a key scratching the metal lock whispered conformations to Danielle; he's drunk again.

A grunt sounded, and the key slid into place. A tall figure stepped into the dimness of the small apartment. Danielle huddled closer into herself, her back caving into the pits of her stomach, into the endless dread pooling inside her.

"Dani..." His low slur was tainted with a familiar odor. Danielle peeled her eyes open, vigorously ignoring the thrashing of her heart as she stretched her mouth into a smile, the split lip, hid under her heavy lipstick, stinging as she clenched her teeth. Her body was just flesh, she reminded herself. Flesh, bones, skin. There were no wings. No miracles. No other life.

She was seated at the couch, hands folded in her lap, eyes cast downward, body lifeless like an antique doll. It was the way Alexander wanted to find her every time he walk through that door. Her pretty face covered with makeup and nails done, just like his mom when his father came home. She would be wearing the outfit he chose that morning, sitting prettily like a good trophy wife in his house. The chores would be done, the surfaces wiped down to the last speck of dust and floors polished to make them shine like the silverware in the cupboards.

Danielle learned, through the facade of traditions and a kept home, how never to trust a 'nice' man's pretty cage. He set it up so perfectly, so so perfectly...

When they first started dating, he brought her to a family brunch. His family was so warm that she didn't notice how the women clumped together in the kitchen as the men laughed at the table. How easily Alexander's father cut off his mother. It's the small things—how a boy's dad treats women says everything about their 'traditions'.

Danielle tried not to think about it—spilt milk spoiled fast. She was too naive to have realize it. She knew better now. Being vigilant of Alexander's mood meant sleeping with one less bruise.

Something was off tonight. He didn't seem to notice how Danielle spotted a terrified wide eyed look as his vision spun the more he staggered. Danielle figured that he probably went out for drinks with his coworkers at his favorite cop bar—it was the only thing she could think of, as she hadn't left the apartment in weeks. Her heartbeats rung in her ears, and it was harder and harder to keep from shaking.

His large frame tilted to the left, and Danielle clenched her knee tighter, the smile slowly leaving her face. The frilly white blouse felt suffocating, pearls choking her. A wrong move could result in many painful endings—especially when Alexander was...unsound like this. It would be so much harder to do the chores with a sprained wrist.

"Dani... Dani..." Alexander slurred, grabbing the umbrella stand for balance but accidentally knocking it down. Danielle jumped. It was harder and harder to keep her composed facade on; the thundering of her heart was becoming all she could hear.

"Is... is the house clean...?" Alexander has to pause in between his questioning to regain his thoughts, and Danielle nodded, knowing the lump in her throat was impossible to swallow.