The Clouded Eye [Completed, Editing]

Chapter 20: Those Wounded Only Wound

Her eye was a dark shade of purple, and stuck out obtrusively in a sea of people. It looked like a festering sore with a yellow tinge around the outside. The story behind Sandra Keating's injury would be too hard to communicate, let alone dwell on, so the immediate response to any questioning individuals would be to dismiss them, and prove to them that nothing had changed significantly by acting the same. Her arm ached as she pulled on her work dress for the day. She attempted to keep her attention away from the fresh injuries she'd acquired the night before, and partially succeeded by pouring her coffee into a bland cup and proceeding to sip on it.

The violent passions she'd endured the previous night had shaken her, and just the fact that it had shaken her up frazzled her more. It was such a rare occurrence. Her uncle's swinging arms were threatening enough to her wellbeing, but because he had held a beer bottle at the time, the damage was magnified. Memories of that night filled her head and made an immediate tightness seize up her whole body. She had tried her best to avoid being hit, but failed – ending up getting hit on her head and receiving a huge gash across her arm. Sandra dropped her coffee cup in a moment of clumsiness and panic.

Work wasn't a great deal better. Sandra knew that she wasn't doing an amazing job at hiding her ailments from her employees. She could tell because of the continuous stares she was subjected to. They were probably wondering why their boss had gotten all timid and quiet. It was the strangest thing, but Mrs Keating could not for the life of her find that cynical, demeaning side of her after her night of horrors. Her thoughts were all-consuming – rapidly and ruthlessly invading the brain space she kept for everyday human functions. Of course, her Uncle Kendrick and his friend Killian were far from respectful house-guests, but that would never make her believe that physical abuse was a possible outcome of the living situation.

"Mrs Keating, we have a new family requiring our services. I just thought I should let you know," Adaline Branson said.

"Yes, thank you." Though Adaline didn't miss the yelling in the slightest, the absence of this made her very much concerned. Her cause of concern confuddled her. She hadn't realised that over the past few weeks, her dislike of Sandra had lessened and lessened.

"Mrs Keating, I can't help but notice something's wrong. I know we're not close, and I wouldn't expect you to confide in me, but I'm here if you ever need to speak with someone. You can rest assured that I would only ever keep it between us."

"What are you talking about? I knew you were a silly girl, but probably never the extent until now. Just do your work as you're supposed to, and stop trying to pry," Sandra said. A fleeting vulnerable feeling gave her the appearance of normality she needed to portray. Everyone returned to scrubbing clothing on wooden boards and wringing them out.

Adaline – slightly disheartened - followed suit of the rest. She peered back at Sandra later as she was folding an elderly lady's pinafore for her to pick it up that morning. The black eye was an obvious malady, but when Sandra reached up to a high shelf to retrieve another block of soap for washing, Adaline knew her situation had to be a serious one. A deep-seated determination resided in her for the rest of the day. She knew she couldn't erase what she had seen, and must confront Sandra again. Of course, her pride couldn't handle another public rejection, so she chose to broach the subject after the working day.

All wash women walked out the door to go to lunch, leaving the last two and awkward tension inside the building. Mrs Keating suspiciously eyed Adaline, and kept flicking her eyes over to the woman while preparing to have her break as well. After approximately a couple of minutes of this, Sandra couldn't take it any longer.

"Miss Branson, do you need something?" she asked.

"I need to talk to you. About those marks you have on your arm and eye. I know you don't enjoy my company – for what reason I'm not sure – but I'd be doing a disserve to you if I ignored it." Sandra was quiet for a stretch of time, crossed her arms and looked to the wooden-board flooring.