[PROSE] A Body Dismembered

Another short story written for my Advanced Creative Writing Course. This one a bit longer. About 3,000+ words. Let me know what you think of it. Constructive criticism is always welcome.

Click below for "A Body Dismembered."

(Sorry the formatting is kind of crappy. It didn't copy and paste correctly.)

A Body Dismembered

          "Claire," her sister, Anna, called as she entered through the front door.

          "In here," Claire’s voice trembled slightly.

          "Are you ready to go?"

          Claire picked up one of the plates from her mother’s china set, lathered, rinsed, and placed it on the drying rack. She picked up another and repeated: lathered, rinsed, and placed. She had just picked up a third plate when her sister finally entered the kitchen.

          "Why aren't you ready? Did you forget that we were going Christmas shopping today?"

Claire lathered and rinsed. “Claire?”

"Sorry, I can't go." She placed the plate on the drying rack. The muscles in the nape of her neck tightened up further. Claire felt Anna’s gaze traveling from her slumped shoulders, to her crookedly knotted apron, her tousled hair that fell against the left side of her face, and the slight tremble in her arms and hands as she washed the dishes.

          "Claire? Is everything all right?" The click of Anna’s heels against the linoleum floor made Claire jump.

          Her face turned slightly to the left, Claire nodded. “I’m fine.”

          “Are you sure? You seem.”

          “Yes, you can go. I’ll call you, soon.”

          “But.”

          The dishes clattered, as Claire threw the sponge into the sink. “Stop, just stop,” she heaved. She began to cry as she clutched the edge of the sink tightly. Her cries turned into sobs that rattled her diaphragm. She kneeled and hung on desperately to the edge of the sink, as she banged her head rhythmically against the wooden cabinet.

“Claire, Claire,” the heels clicked rapidly, synchronously with each thud of her head. Claire’s forehead hit the palm of a hand. Anna had kneeled beside Claire and placed her hand against the cabinet. “What’s the matter?” Claire sniffed as Anna gently grabbed her shoulder and turned her around. Anna gasped. Claire kept her head down. She'd seen in the mirror this morning the motley of yellows, purples, blacks, and blues on her left cheek and eye and the cuts on her lips. “What happened? Who did this to you?” Claire slowly lifted her head to meet her sister’s eyes, “Who do you think?” she whispered.

          “John? But, how long has this been happening?”

          Claire shoved Anna away from her with both arms as she stood up abruptly. Anna fell heavily against the linoleum floor. She tried to get up, but halted as Claire pointed a shaking index finger at her chest. “You knew.”

          “No, Claire. I—”

          “You did,” Claire screeched hysterically, her breath caught as another sob wracked her ribcage. “But you always,” Claire wiped hopelessly at the mascara-tears that streaked her cheeks. “You always said.”

Claire looked into her sister's widened eyes.

***

          “You can’t Claire. You just can’t.” Anna had came over after Claire had made a desperate phone call to her only sibling. I can’t do this anymore, Anna, she had sobbed into the phone. “You can’t just divorce, John,” Anna continued.

          Claire squeezed her eyes tightly against the burn behind her lids. Her chest tightened as if it’d shrunk around her heart and lungs and her lips trembled. “He hits me, Anna.”

          “But, he’s your husband. The scriptures say: Jesus makes it clear that it is God who joins the husband and wife together, according to His will. What God joins together cannot be dissolved because God's will is perfect and eter—”

          “Fuck, the scriptures. I said, he hits me, yells at me. He makes me feel like shit. And you say, because he’s my husband, I have to take it?” Claire’s entire body trembled from barely contained rage and hysteria.

Anna sighed and placed a warm hand against Claire’s bare arm. She rubbed her hand up and down lightly. “I don’t know what to do,” Claire dropped her forehead onto Anna’s shoulder and cried. Anna dropped her head back and starred into the fluorescent kitchen lights as she fought tears. For a few moments the only sounds in the warm kitchen were Claire’s soft sobs and Anna’s murmured, “It’s okay. Shh, I’m here. Don’t worry. I’m here.”

          When Claire’s sobs faded, Anna guided her to the breakfast nook in the kitchen. They sat across from one another at the round, warm, cherry wood table. Anna reached over and clasped Claire’s clammy hands in her dry ones. They both briefly enjoyed the sun as it streamed through the kitchen window and blanketed their joined hands with comforting warmth.

          With a gentle squeeze of Claire’s hand, Anna began, “Remember what mom always said made a good woman?”

          Claire shifted her watery, red eyes to meet her sister’s. Anna continued, “She always said, a good woman needed just three things: Strength, Patience and a love and fear of God. I know you already have great strength inside you. Just try to have a little more patience and place yourself in God’s capable hands. Husband and wife are joined together by God and become one body. A body cannot be dismembered and still live. Just remember that.” Anna squeezed Claire’s hands once, twice before she let go. Claire looked away and clenched her eyes tightly.

***

          Claire glared down at Anna on the floor. “You always brought mom into everything. You tried your goddamn hardest to be just like her after she died.”

          Anna finally stood up from the floor, where she had fallen when Claire shoved her away. “Don’t you take God’s name in vain.”

           “Don’t you tell me what to do in my own goddamn house,” Claire snarled back.

          Startled, Anna took a step back.

          Claire shook her head slightly and laughed. “You knew nothing about mom. You don’t know anything about what she went through, what she endured. What dad used to always—.”

The sound of a key turning in the front door interrupted Claire. Her bruises stood out even more against her suddenly pale face. Soon, heavy footsteps sounded louder and louder as they approached the kitchen. Claire placed a trembling hand against her throat, as her horror-filled gaze flew to Anna’s. “Go,” she mouthed as her other hand waved Anna frantically toward the back door. The footsteps halted when they reached the entryway to the kitchen.

“Claire, honey, I’m home,” John’s silky deep voice cut through the confusion, suspicion and fear that smothered the kitchen.

          “Hello, dear.” Claire swallowed. “You’re home, early.” Her voice sounded steadier.

          John turned to Anna and gave a small dip of his head, “Anna.”

          “Hello, John. How are you?”

          “I’m doing well, thank you. Here for a visit?” A corner of his mouth lifted sardonically.

          “Yes. Claire and I were supposed to go shopping, but she’s,” Anna's voice trembled, “not feeling well.”

          “Oh, dear.” John stepped further into the kitchen. He placed his briefcase and shopping bags next to the sink and straightened to gently cup Claire’s face. Claire closed her eyes briefly. A sharp pain as his thumb pressed into her check caused Claire to wince and open her eyes. “Is your face still bothering you? I brought home another pack of frozen peas and aspirin.”

          John’s thumb lightly stroked Claire’s bruised cheek, as he turned to Anna. “Your big sister is so clumsy. She walked right into one of the kitchen cupboards yesterday. Though…” John mused. “It may have been partly my fault. I’d left one of the cupboards," he gestured towards the one closest to the kitchen entryway, "as I ran out to get the paper. He turned back to Claire and placed gentle kisses on her swollen cheek and blackened eye. “I’m so sorry, honey,” he murmured.

          “It’s,” Claire cleared her throat quietly. “It’s okay. It wasn’t your fault.”

          Anna’s eyes cut sharply toward their direction. She avoided John’s gaze as he suddenly turned back to her, “Anna, you’re welcome to stay and keep Claire company.” His thumb pressed slightly harder against Claire’s cheek. “Seeing as she’s not feeling too well.” To Claire, he said, “I’ll be in my office if you need me, sweetheart.”

          “Okay,” Claire whispered. With a final kiss dropped on her forehead, John picked up his briefcase and strode out of the kitchen leaving behind a trail of Calvin Klein Eternity.

     Claire and Anna both released simultaneous breaths of tension. For a few minutes, neither woman said a word. Finally, Anna turned to Claire, her eyes glistening suspiciously, “Claire, you,” she took a deep, shaky breath, “What are you going to—come home with me.” 

          Claire stared at her sister, slack-jawed. “What?” she shook her head. “What are you talking about?”

          “You can’t.” Anna’s tears overflowed and trailed down the right side of her nose. “I can’t just leave you here.” Anna shoved her fist into her mouth to muffle her sudden wails.

          Claire glanced nervously to the kitchen doorway. She stepped closer to her baby sister, stretched to put her arm around her shoulder, and pulled her head to her bosom. “Shh. Oh, honey. It’s okay. Really, it is,” she cooed. “Your big sis is fine. She’ll be fine.”

          Claire tottered as Anna suddenly pushed her away. “Stop lying. How could you be fine?” Anna hissed quietly through her clenched teeth. “That man is like a serpent, more crafty than any other beast of the field that the Lord God had. He will kill you one day.” Claire shook her head silently. “Please, Claire. Please, come home with me,” Anna pleaded.

          Claire sniffed quietly and glanced at the doorway again, “I can’t.”

          “Why? Why, would you stay with him still? It’s like you’re asking for it.” Claire watched Anna as her words were replayed in her mind. “Claire, I’m sorry. I didn’t,” she reached an arm towards Claire.

          Claire took a step back. Her face twisted up in a sneer. “What ever happened to What God joins together cannot be dissolved; or A body cannot be dismembered and still live. You’re such a hypocrite,” Claire spat has she turned a stiff back to Anna.

          “Claire, I’m sorry. Oh god, so sorry. I thought. You know, I don’t.” Claire relaxed as Anna stepped closer, wrapped her arms around her shoulders and squeezed. So warm.

          Claire turned her head slightly to rest her cheek against Anna’s. “Mom really loved dad, didn’t she?” Anna looked slightly confused, but she responded: “Yeah. They always seemed so perfect together.”

          “And dad loved her back, right?"

          "Yeah."

          "I always wanted what they had, I always wanted that strong a love, that could overcome everything, even that--"

          "Claire?"

          "I can't leave him, Anna. Despite everything, he's mine. My chance at having what mom and dad did. Please understand."

          "But, Claire," Anna's voice shook.

Claire reached up and cupped Anna's cheek. "I really need you to just understand."

          "I can't," Anna sobbed as she released Claire. "I," she snatched her purse off the table and ran out of the kitchen.

          "Anna," Claire called out and took a step in her direction. The door slammed.

***

           “Honey?”

          “Yes, John?” Claire asked. After Anna had left, she'd sat on the couch and stared into the blackened TV screen. The lights from the Christmas tree that she’d insisted on stood behind her and glittered in the screen. Red, blue, green, and yellow. She smiled gently. As she heard John's footsteps getting closer, she turned around from her seat to face him.

            "How was your visit with your sister?” John took a seat beside Claire.

            "Fine," Claire turned back to the still black TV screen.

            John raised an eyebrow. "Just fine?"

            A slight spark in Claire's eyes reflected in the screen. "Yes. Just fine."

          "Honey, you know I don't like when you speak to me that way." His voice dripped with syrup. He always speaks that way just before he. She was thrown into the back of the couch, as John’s fist collided with the side of her face. Dazed, Claire cradled her face and looked up at her husband.

            “Why did you really invite your sister?” He grabbed her by the front of her blouse and brought her face within two inches of his.

            "Why?" Claire taunted breathlessly. Claire’s hands grasped her husband’s as the neck of the blouse tightened around her neck. "What is a big man like you afriad of?"

            Something flashed in John's eyes, but then he smiled. His hands moved from Claire's blouse to wrap more firmly around her neck. "Why do you force me to treat you this way, baby?" John's voice oozed with concern as his thumbs dug deeper and deeper into her throat. He paused. "Now," John said pleasantly. "Why did you invite your sister?"

            “We told you," she rasped. "We were going to go Christmas shopping."

            "Why didn't you go?" his eyes flashed darkly and his fingers tensed, almost as if he dared her to tell the truth.

            "I wasn't feeling too well," she gasped and tears blurred her vision.

     “The two of you were in there for a long time afterwards. What'd you talk about,” John asked calmly as he shook her.

       "We just rescheduled our shopping trip."

      "You sure?" John's eyes narrowed and his fingers tightened slightly. "Did you tell her anything?"

          “No, I didn’t, I swear. So please let go.”

          “There's nothing to tell and I don’t believe you!” John shoved Claire away from him. She cried out breathlessly as air filled her deprived lungs and her lower back hit the edge of the wooden coffee table.

          She had been three when she'd asked, "Mommy, are you okay?" They had been baking Christmas Cookies. "Yes, baby. Mommy just walked into the door.” "Silly Mommy," she had giggled as she drew Santas and Christmas trees with red and green frosting.

          John shoved the table out of his way; the large vase on top of it, which once belonged to her mother, rolled off and landed on the carpet unscathed. It was green, her mother's favorite colors and had the most godawful ugly purple flowers on it.

          "Mooomy," she had called. "Daddy has a surprise for you." "What is it?" her mother asked as she walked out of the kitchen. "A vase, a really pretty one." Claire had been seven and she watched as her father kissed the fresh bruise on her mother's cheek.

          John stepped closer and kicked Claire. Huddled in a fetal position on the floor, Claire tried to endure. She moaned when a kick landed on her shoulder, the arm covering her head, and her hip. She cried out, as a particularly heavy kick landed on her lower back, on her kidney. All the way, John snarled his usual mantras: "Why do you make me do it?” and “You drive me crazy."

          Claire had been seventeen and Anna, fourteen; they had stood on the front lawn as they watched their mother being wheeled into the ambulance, her face covered against the blinding sunlight. Their father was limp in between two police officers who held him by the arms. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I love her, but she drives me crazy. I'm so sorry," he mumbled as he was shoved into the back seat of the cruiser. It had been the day before Christmas.

          On the next kick, Claire kicked out as well. Her legs tangled with John’s, tripped him and brought him falling to the ground. Claire picked up her mother's vase that laid next to her head. As John sat up and snarled, “you bitch,” she closed her eyes and brought the vase down on his head. With a wet, sickening thud, John fell sideways against the couch. Claire lifted the vase and brought it down again.

          Claire finally opened her eyes and looked down at where John laid against the couch unmoving. Claire put her hand to her mouth and bit the inside of her palm to muffle the scream clawing to escape. She stumbled backwards and tripped, landed on the carpet. She sat on the carpet and pulled up her knees and sobbed. She cried for John, for her mother and father, for Anna and for herself. Twenty minutes later, she sniffled and wiped away the last of her tears.

          Emptied, she crawled over to John. Hesitantly she reached for his pants legs; she grabbed and tugged. “John,” she whispered. She tugged harder, “John!” She said a little louder. She ignored the blood pooling and soaking into the couch cushion. She moved closer and placed her index and middle fingers against his blood-splattered pulse. Nothing. She lifted her fingers and pressed them against his neck. Again, nothing.

          Claire stood up and walked over to the phone hanging on the hallway wall. She dialed a number.

          “Did something happen, Claire?”

          “Yes.”

          “I told you,” Anna cried. “I told you to come home with me. Where’s John?”

          “On the floor,” Claire slumped against the wall. She could see the Christmas lights from where she stood. So beautiful.

          “On the floor?”

          “Yes. Floor. Blood. Lights.”

         “Claire, Claire, Claire!” Anna’s tiny voice echoed through the mouthpiece of the phone as it dangled from Claire’s limp hand. “I’m coming, Claire. Do you hear me? I’m coming. Fuck”. Then dial tone.

***

     Two young women were buzzed in pass the glass doors.  The shorter one wore large sunglasses and clenched her large purse to her chest, as she approached the receptionist desk. The taller one trailed silently behind her.

    “Welcome to the Family Justice Center. How may we help you today,” the slightly younger receptionist asked.

“I cal ear”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, I can’t hear you.”

The shorter woman cleared her throat. “I called earlier today. My name is Claire Philips.”

“Oh, Claire. Yes, you’re right here. Please have a seat and one of our screening receptionists will call you in shortly.”

      Claire didn’t move as she sent furtive glances around the room. The walls were a soft peach color. On top of the side tables were fresh flowers. A plush maroon carpet laid on the floor. The eight chairs circling the carpet were a brighter peach, wide and comfortable-looking. A large abstract painting with energetic, powerful reds, and pure, calming blues and greens adorned a single wall. She returned her dark gaze to the still smiling receptionist. She lifted are sunglasses and met the receptionist’s eyes. “I’m safe, here right?”

          “Of course, ma’am."

          Claire felt a soft tug as Anna grabbed her by the elbow and led her to a pair of seats. Anna pushed Claire into a chair across from the painting before she took the seat beside her. Claire sat with her back ramrod straight and gazed at the painting. It’s so pretty. Like the Christmas lights. She allowed the reds to strengthen her resolve and the blues and greens to calm her and put her at peace. She took a deep breath. Her fists unclenched, her shoulders sagged, and she leaned back into the chair.

          “Claire. Claire Philips?”

          “Claire,” Anna hissed and shook her.

          “What?”

          “They’re calling you, snap out of it.”

          Claire blinked rapidly and tore her eyes away from the painting. “I’m sorry, yes. I’m here.”

          “Please come with me.” Claire turned to look at Anna. She saw the grim determination and pride in her sister’s eyes and stood up to follow the young woman who had been calling her name.

          They walked into one of two offices in the back of the waiting room. The young woman gestured for Claire to walk in before she followed and closed the door behind her. “Please have a seat, Claire,” the woman said as she nodded at the seat in front of the large wooden desk. She walked around the desk to sit across from Claire. “Welcome to the Family Justice Center. My name is Elmira and it’s a pleasure to meet you Claire.”

          “Nice to meet you, too,” Claire mumbled and starred down at her clenched hands.

          “It’s okay. We’re here to help you,” Elmira said gently. “I’m going to ask you a few yes or no questions to get us started. Okay?”

          “Okay,” Claire nodded.

          “Are you here because you are a victim of domestic violence?”

          Claire trembled. “Yes,” she whispered.

          “Is the abuser a spouse or significant other?”

          “Yes, my husband,” Claire choked out. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment and her eyes with held back tears. She raised her hand, as a stray tear made its way down the curve of her nose.

          Elmira paused. “It’s okay. We can wait as long as you need.” Claire dug into her purse for a tissue and wiped her nose. “Are you ready to continue?” Claire nodded. “Okay, how long have you been with abuser?”

          Claire’s eyes began to water again, as she whispered, “15 years.”

          “When did the abuse begin?”

          Claire’s shoulders tightened and her fingers clenched the tissue in her hands. She raised her watery, blood-shot eyes to Elmira’s. “About 10 years ago. When we learned that John was sterile.”