fayre belanger, district ten | finished

I was content.

Childhood with a full belly and a doll in my hand — I knew my privilege. Where others struggled, I sat in silence. Pursed lips and clasped hands; Mama always said quiet girls made it further than the rest. Selfishness never sat well with me. Neither did charity. I grew within myself and learned to love the skeleton beneath my flesh. I was always happier when left to my own devices.

I'd drop the velvet ribbons from my hair on the way home from school for others to find and keep, but when tragedy would strike and the community would band together to take a stand, I'd stay safe behind an iron gate and watch the world burn. A glass of water at my side, but why bother dousing one flame when there was a wildfire to fight?

Not selfish, but not kind. Just a woman of wealth. I was bred to continue legacies, arranged for marriage just months after I was born. I grew up with the boy. He had kind eyes and dimpled cheeks, and I never loved him — but I knew my place. I was okay with becoming my mother's shadow. Just a pretty face made of glass and a flat smile.

Someday I'd carry my husband's child and kiss him goodnight with both eyes open, and I'd learn to love pieces of him. I convinced myself I'd be happy. If I got to take the easy way out of the forest, I'd be sure not to complain when thorns got snagged on my dress. I wrapped a ribbon around my throat and I dared myself to cry.

Eighteen — and my marriage was soon to come. I was still holding the shards of him, and I was still bleeding. Rumors came in the night, and I wasn't able to ignore them. Red lips and blonde hair and whoever he was learning to love sure as Hell wasn't me; but I still wanted to be sure. I had to hear that the man I was building my future around was only giving me his name and not his heart.

I never wanted it until he hid it from me. A dreary diner sitting across from a stranger, I was grateful at least for the posture that I was taught. No one got inside of my head without the key, and I swallowed it years ago. "They say you've got a talent for uncovering secrets," I stated the obvious, leaning forward with my teeth on display and sliding an envelope of cash his way. "I need you to find out if my fiancé is cheating on me." And I didn't cry, but my breath was shaky, so I hated myself.

And it was almost funny — how protective I was over a man who was not mine to keep, but who I couldn't let go. I was fine with following in my mother's footsteps, but at least my father never strayed from her. At least he pretended that their union was something more than a blood contract. I was willing to give myself up as a sacrifice, but I had to have hope. I couldn't cut myself open without the promise that the scar might heal with time. I was building myself around the possibility that one day we'd be happy, but where the fuck was there to go when he swerved off the road and left me on my own?

I was on a mission with a private investigator to figure out what I already knew, but I kept hoping for the best. There was no way to stop myself. I spent so many years watching the sunrise that I couldn't fathom the day that the sun would finally die. A sky raining fire, but I left my umbrella at home — I was always an optimistic nihilist. Nothing mattered in the grand scheme of things. We were all going back home to the earth. I just hoped that flowers would grow from my ashes. I kept hoping I could find a version of myself to love if being his wife was an impossibility.

I was content,
but then the hunger came.
And I know now why the birds sing at dawn.