Staying Is A Choice

"I should have known better." Eleanor McArthur mumbles, aggressively scrubbing the dark red stain smeared across the porcelain white tiles of the bathroom floor. "Mama always did warn me." She continues to mumble to herself, her southern accent clear with every word. "There'll be others, she always said. They can't all be bad, she always said." A hysterical laugh vibrates through her throat, and the movement of her hands turn more frenzied. Tears stream down her cheeks, stinging the scratches and mixing with the red liquid seeping out of them.

The harder she scrubs, the redder the stain becomes. She pauses, releases the scrub brush and lifts her trembling hands to her face to calmly sweep the hair out of her eyes. She looks at her mangled fingernails, most of them split through the middle and others bleeding. Her hysterical laugh returns, bursting from her chest in unsystematic huffs.

Her heart startles when the bathroom door bursts open, swinging on its hinges and slamming against the white porcelain walls. Its loud echo ricochets off the walls, slamming into her ears and making her feel disoriented. Her breathing falters, nearly choking her. The man's figure towers over her hunched figure. His eyes glare down at her. The very essence of death bleeds from them. His feet are clad in rubber gumboots, releasing an annoying squeak with even the slightest of movement. Those boots are coated in the same red substance she has been trying to scrub from the porcelain tiles for the last two hours.

"Oh, Eleanor." His voice is smooth, blameless, sweet as syrup. "Are you still entertaining yourself with that old stain? Haven't I told you that I'll handle it?" The boots creak with every step he takes towards her, gnawing away at her false composure. He lowers himself into a squat beside her and reaches forward to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear, tucking ever so forcefully on it.

The air in Eleanor's chest escapes her lips in ragged breaths as she keeps her eyes pinned to the day-old stubble on his chin. She releases a small yelp when that calloused hand lowers to grab onto her chin with a firm grip. He forcefully lifts her head so that her eyes have no choice but to stare directly into his. He tuts and raises his other hand to gently wipe the bleeding scratches on her cheek. His face softens, but her heart does not settle. Those eyes... Those hauntingly dead eyes portray his true character.

"I shouldn't have done that." He mumbles, releasing her chin to place the palms of his hands against either side of her face, squeezing her cheeks together. "I always lose my temper so easily, don't I?" He clicks his tongue against the top of his mouth before releasing her head. Those black, lifeless eyes scan her face before he rises to his feet again. He slowly raises his left foot and places it onto her right knee, forcing her leg down against the floor.

She swallows a whimper and stares up at him. Waiting. Expecting.

"What are you waiting for?" He raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow. Eleanor's eyes shift uncomfortably towards the boot that is pressing against her knee and wills her trembling hands to remove the boot from his foot. Her breath hitches loudly when he snatches her left hand into his. She watches him finger the stained stone of the elegant gold ring wrapped firmly against the skin of her ring finger. The cold surface feels almost searing as if it's a burning coal.

"Look at what you have done to yourself, Eleanor." He sighs and pinches her bleeding fingertips. "I told you to take care of your appearance, didn't I? How would it make me look if others saw you like this?" He roughly grabs onto her chin again, forcing her to look up at him. "Do you want to have a bad reputation? Do you want to ruin my reputation?" His smooth voice turns clipped. Aggressive.

She manages a small squeak, sounding close enough to a "no". He eyes her disdainfully for a few seconds before sighing and releasing her chin.

"I had a really good day today, Eleanor. I do not feel like arguing. Since you have chosen to do this, do it properly. I shouldn't have to clean up after you." He bends down and pulls the other boot off by himself, tossing it to the side. His eyes scan the bathroom indifferently before he spins around calmly and makes his way out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind him with nearly enough force to shake the walls.

Eleanor's whole body crumbles to the ground, clinging to the cold floor as if wishing it could disappear into the earth. The coldness of the tiles breaches through her thin night gown and makes her shiver. Goosebumps spread all over her body. Her head lifts slightly to stare at the cabinet a few steps away from where she is curled up. She swallows tears as she crawls her way towards the cabinet and opens it.

The bleach and chemicals on the floor make her throat burn with every breath she takes. Her hands shake uncontrollably as she reaches for the small white and blue thermometer-like object hiding behind the pipes of the sink. She bites down onto her lower lip as she crawls towards the wall so that she can press her back against it for support. Tears stream down her cheeks and she presses the object against her chest. With a shaky breath she closes her eyes and turns her head upwards towards the ceiling.

"Please, God. Please." She summons her remaining courage and opens her eyes. For a few seconds she keeps her hands tightly wrapped around the object, and then, after swallowing down the knot in her throat, she slowly opens her hands.

"No," she whispers, horrified as the two blue lines materialize in front of her. Her left hand automatically lowers to wrap securely around her middle, and she balls her hand up, gripping her cream nightgown tightly between her fingers.

"What should I do now, mama?" She cries, staring up at the ceiling. The feeling of dread she has grown so familiar with multiplies tenfold and her breathing turns ragged. Her tears also multiply, as if she has an abundant river behind them. Her cheeks sting as the drops of emotion seep into the torn skin.

"I'll tell ya what I did." Her mother's voice whispers in her ears. She hiccups as she attempts to swallow down the tears and pushes herself up from the floor to lean over the sink. Her disheveled reflection in the mirror stares back at her. Desperate. Through the haze of her blurry eyes it almost looks like her mother is staring right back at her. She can imagine the cigarette hanging from her lips as she drags a deep breath and shuffles poker cards between her hands.

"What did you do, mama?" Her lower lip trembles.

The silhouette of her mother lifts her hand to remove the cigarette from her lips, blows a puff of smoke and waves Eleanor closer as if wanting to tell a secret. She can imagine her mother's blood red lips pull up into a sinister smirk, revealing yellow-stained teeth.

"Why," She whispers, blowing smoke into Elanor's face, "I got rid of him, of course." Her eyes flicker down towards something behind Eleanor and then return to her eyes, daringly. "Killed him, I did." Those blood red lips stretch even wider.

Eleanor's breath hitches in her throat as she stares up at the reflection in front of her. "K-killed?" Her chest heaves and her legs give out from under her. She can feel where bruises will from from her body colliding with the cold surface. Her head turns to look behind her where she was previously scrubbing the floor until her nails gave out.

The white bleach bottle peers back at her, as if alive and beckoning her closer.

"Yes," she mumbles, crawling closer to the bottle. "T-that's it, mama." A hysterical laugh escapes her lips again, just like earlier that night. "That's the answer." Somehow, she manages to push herself to her feet again. Her hands continue to tremble as she picks up the rubber gumboots that lay scattered about on the ground and pulls them onto her cold feet.

"I-I haven't made him dinner yet." She hiccups as she nears the door and grabs onto the doorhandle with her left hand. A manic laugh keeps bubbling up from inside her stomach and she tightly grips the bleach bottle against her chest. Her head turns towards the sink, almost robotically, and she stares at the white and blue object laying inside it as if waiting for her to discard it.

"I'm okay now, mama" She mumbles, her lips tilting up. "I know just what to do."

The gumboots squeak irritably with every step she takes, and the door makes a soft clicking noise as it closes behind her.

Inside the bathroom the soft moonlight shines through the barred windows, illuminating the faded blood red stain... And the worn-out scrub brush laying right beside it...