Maude sits in front of the glass and looks into her own eyes. They are grey. But not a flat kind of grey. No. They are the kind of grey that changes color depending on the light in the room and the time of day and whether it is raining or sunny outside. Her eyes move away from her eyes and move across her head. Her face. Her hair. Her lips. She takes it all in. And she wonders if she is doing the right thing. Her eyes trace down her lips, across her chin, to her neck. And the ugly purple and green bruise that is forming there.
There was a time when she would have defended Richard. She would have said that he didn’t mean to be so rough. That he didn’t know his own strength. That he would never want to hurt any of them. But it has been a long time since she has felt like defending him to others. Or to herself. Instead, she reaches for the make up and applies the cover like a mask across her neck that says everything is okay. Everything is fine.
There was a time when she would have defended Richard. She would have said that he didn’t mean to be so rough. That he didn’t know his own strength. That he would never want to hurt any of them. But it has been a long time since she has felt like defending him to others. Or to herself. Instead, she reaches for the make up and applies the cover like a mask across her neck that says everything is okay. Everything is fine.
