Wilted

Maggots

"The scars from mental cruelty can be as deep and long lasting as wounds from punches or slaps but are often not as obvious. " - Lundy Bancroft

Drip.
Plip.
Plop.
Drip.
Plip.
Plop.
Drip.
Plip.

That damned pipe. I ways forget to fix it. It was leaky and hitting a wooden beam. Mold had grown along it,enjoying the warm,dark and wet environment.

Creak.

My attention turned towards the door. I stumbled towards the shreds of light poking through the crack and shivered. Molds could thrive in darkness but not me.

    I had been stuck here for hours. In the unending darkness of the basement. She had locked me down here. The reason why isn't important. This is a common occurrence. I tend to fuck things up,it's a bad habit of mine. I can't help but twist things up and break them. I can't help but fuck up. I had upset her once again.

Then again,I sometimes wondered what part of my existence did not upset her.

I had been down here a while. I think she must have felt my punishment would suffice.
   
    "Get dressed,We have church."

What? Had I really been down here all night?

     "Did I studder?Move,Edward."

I hated when she called me that.

However,I did as told. Slowly standing up on my wary knees. I was hungry. I was tired. I was sore.

Walking to my room, I got in, grabbing a pair of clothes from the closet and heading to the shower silently. Fifteen minutes. I have fifteen minutes to get ready. Any longer and she will get upset. I showered and put on my clothes ,shaving. I stared into the mirror silently. My soft brown eyes encased with purple swelling. My nose crooked.

This was my life.
This is my life.
And it's killing me.

The little voice in my head told me to continue getting ready.

Keep busy.
Keep busy.
Keep busy.

It distracts you from the soreness.

We got to church. The people no longer stared at my bruised face. They were used to it. It was nothing new. I was just the trouble maker. I just got into alot of fights. I got drunk at bars and got into fights.

Pray on my knees. For myself and for her. For our love. I called upon the saints and when the service ended I went back to hell.

       "You were slouching,Edward. You weren't smiling enough. "

We got to the front door and I walked in. Sitting on the couch and staring at the flowers in a vase from a month ago. Rotten. Beyond wilted. In the water flies had festered and maggots were digging in the remains of the flowers rot. While they floated in the murky and sludged water.

Feeding on what was left behind.
Feeding on what they were given.
They had no choice.
They just ate whatever slop was put in front of them.

I looked up, Amelia dropping a bowl of something that looked like oat meal from a week ago. Some spilled on my Sunday pants.

It was luke warm.

"Eat up."

The maggots ate whatever you put in front of them. Whatever disgusting slop you had to offer. Whatever the maggots deserved because they were flies. Ugly flies. Even though they would turn into flies the maggots still deserved to eat.

So I ate.