Ashes of her name

Lia sat on the bathroom floor, her knees pulled up to her chest, the sting of antiseptic biting into the cut on her wrist. She didn’t flinch. Not anymore. The pain had become something else a companion, a punishment, a way to feel when everything else inside her had gone numb. She'd grown so fund of slitting her wrist it became just another routine in her life. The bandage trembled slightly in her fingers, but she wrapped it tight, the way she always did. Precise. Controlled. Like the rest of her life wasn’t spinning out of control. Her cheek still throbbed from the slap from last night. It wasn't enough to leave a mark for long but enough to remind her of her place. Maybe if she hadn’t spoken. Maybe if she hadjust smiled and nodded, Mikhail might not have taken out his frustrations on her. But the eggs had been too salty. That was all. She had offered to cook him something else. She’d even laughed nervously. He hadn’t. He had stared at her, stone-faced, and said, “You ruin everything you touch.” Then his hand had flown across her face and left a vibration of pain right there. It wasn’t the first time. Probably wouldn’t be the last. Now as she stared at the mirror, above the sink it didn't lie. The girl in the reflection looked tired, bruised in more ways than one. Her eyes were dry, though. She hadn’t cried since her mother died two years ago from cancer. As she touched her bandaged wrist, a whisper of regrets passed through her mind. “When will this be over?" Her subconscious asked. "Will I ever be happy?" She heard her phone ring from the living room and ignored it. The last thing she needed now was a call from her P.A. She stood slowly, steadying herself on the counter. Her reflection followed her every move. Her eyes were sunken but alert, her mouth a tight line. “I’m still here,” she whispered to herself. The words floated in the room, fragile. Unbelieved. She needed to leave. Even if it was just for a little while. Air. Movement. Distraction. Anything. The mall The new one in town. This should be a perfect time to check it out. . . . Vivaldi Plaza gleamed under the midday sun, all glass and polished marble. Lia stepped through the entrance, her heels soft against the floor, her face composed now. She’d tied her hair back, added some light makeup. The swelling on her cheek was hidden beneath powder. To anyone watching, she looked perfect. Composed. But every step echoed louder in her chest. She walked past a jewelry store, her fingers brushing against the glass. A silver necklace caught her eye. Simple. Delicate. Like something her mother would’ve worn. God, she missed her mother. The warmth in her voice, the way she could tell when Lia was faking a smile. She would’ve told me to leave him, Lia thought. Divorce him the first time he laid a hand on her. As if she herself could leave Lia's awful excuse of a father. “Playing rich girl again?” a familiar voice teased. Jotting her back to reality. Her stomach tightened. She turned slowly. Mikhail stood there, dressed in black, hands in his pockets, looking like he didn’t care if the whole world disappeared. His expression unreadable. Cold. Detached. But something flickered behind his eyes. Something that almost looked like regret. “I needed to get out,” Lia said, her voice soft. “From what? The luxury cage I gave you?” Her jaw tightened. “From you.” He blinked at that. Not surprised. Just quiet. “I didn’t come here to fight,” she said. “I just needed space.” “You always need something, don’t you?” She looked down. “I guess I do.” He moved closer. For a second just a second his eyes lingered on the side of her face. On the spot where his hand had left a shadow. “You’re pale.” “So are you.” He huffed, a sound that might’ve been a laugh if it weren’t so bitter. She remembered him laughing once. A long time ago. Back when they were just teenagers. When he carried his camera everywhere and told her she had the kind of smile that ruined film because it made every other shot look dull. That boy was gone. Still, she whispered, “You weren’t always like this.” Mikhail stiffened. The mask slipped for a breath. “I know,” he said. Then added, “Neither were you.” She flinched. He looked away. “Don’t wander too far. You know how people vanish in this city.” Her voice cracked, almost too quiet. “Are you threatening me?” His eyes snapped back to hers. “No.” Another silence. Then she said it softly, like she wasn’t sure if she wanted him to hear. “I didn’t ask for any of this.” His expression didn’t change. “Neither did I.” He turned and walked away. She stood there, watching him disappear into the crowd, her throat tightening. I want to hate you, she thought. But I remember the boy you were. The one who gave her a seashell once on a school trip, because she said the sound of the ocean inside it made her feel safe. The one who used to protect her from bullies in elementary school. Now he was the one she feared. The mall lights blurred in her vision. She turned back to the glass, looked again at the necklace and walked away. How could she see it's beauty now with all the tears in her eyes?