Hysteria

Stares were coming from all directions as I ascended the stairs into my mother’s favorite restaurant. It must have been shocking to see a woman’s body so exposed. Bed head, platinum hair swallowing my face, and my red lips smeared in an unflattering fashion. My eyes were looking something like a dark-eyed raccoon, and the smell of cigarette smoke permeated the air as I walked by.

Clicking my way past the concierge I found my way to my mother’s table. I could see her perfect hair shining over the back of her chair, and was dreading the talk we were about to have. She was a snob in the worst kind of way, and I was a direct reflection on her good name. Reaching into my pocket I grabbed my cigarette holder and held it in my hand. Inhaling deeply before submerging into my mother’s world. She was no longer in control of what I did. I was my own person, and had my own money now. I did not need her for anything, and I just had to keep remembering that.

“Hello Mother,” I greeted, going to kiss her cheek.

“You smell,” she sneered, rejecting my kiss, “And what on earth are you wearing?”

“It’s nice to see you too,” I retorted, pulling out the seat opposite her, and lighting up a cigarette.

“Oh my God, go fix your makeup I can not be seen with you looking like that, and that is such a disgusting habit,” she huffed, looking at the cigarette in my hand.

“Get over it, Mother,” I shot, raising my hand for the waiter.

“You aren’t allowed to smoke in here, Ma’am, but can I get a drink for you?” he asked, when reaching the table.

“Yes, I’ll have a double scotch, no ice,” I smiled, blowing some smoke in his face before pressing the cigarette into my plate.

He looked over at my mother who was glaring at me. He seemed to be hesitating on the order. Snapping my fingers into his dazed face I repeated what I wanted. In a hurry the boy sprinted off, and I was left alone with my brooding mother. Sitting in silence I waited for her to say something. When I realized she was at a loss for words I decided to take the bull by the horns.

“What is it that you wanted to meet me here for mother?” I finally asked.

“...You are ruining your good name. Everyone is talking, and people have been calling saying that they are hearing loud noises coming from the house at night,” she hissed.

“I’ve been fixing up the place,” I said.

“You have been fixing the place?” she asked, raising her eyebrows, “You have maids for that!”

“They are adjustments that I had to do myself,” I informed her.

Thinking back on last night when I ran through my house destroying all of my beautiful things, tossing the mirror in the main hallway in a fit of child-like rage and using the broken glass to mutilate the duvet and down pillows in the upstairs bedroom. Looking down at my sliced hand and remembering the way the feathers danced around the room like the ballet, my bloody hand print marking the places I had destroyed and the bottle of scotch I had been holding onto. Suddenly, the boy returned with my glass and I grabbed onto his arm not allowing him to leave.

Throwing back the warm liquid I looked into his frightened eyes and ordered him to bring me the rest of the bottle. He was so young and beautiful, and I knew he was going to break some poor girl’s heart one day, the way my husband broke mine. The boy was trying to fetch my bottle, but I was still clinging onto his arm. His dark eyes staring back into mine like a puppy looking into the eyes of a wolf. Finally I released his arm, and he ran off to get the bottle.

“Marilyn, this is unacceptable-

“Mother, everything I do is unacceptable. For once can you just leave me be!” I screamed, drawing more attention from the surrounding tables.

“Lower your voice,” she pleaded.

“No, I will not lower my voice,” I shouted.

“I realize you are a little upset about Zachary,” she started.

“A little upset? My husband is leaving me for another woman and you think I’m a little upset!” I yelled, banging my fists onto the table.

My hand started to sting, and looking down I saw the cut had reopened and was bleeding onto the table. Grabbing my napkin, I squeezed the cloth into my hand. My mother’s face was displeased, sad, and angry all at the same time. I could tell she wanted to slap me, but being in a public place she held down her anger. The boy was back at my side with the bottle and was staring down at my bloody hand.

“Miss, are you alright?” he asked.

“What is your name, boy?” I retorted.

“Trevor, Miss,” he said.

“Trevor, have you ever broken a girl’s heart?” I questioned.

“Only a few, Ma‘am,” he said, with a chuckle.

“Sit down with us, Trevor,” I ordered.

Trevor hesitated, before telling me that his boss would not allow it. This was of little consequence to me, so I pulled him down into the chair and seized the bottle from his delicate hands. My eyes traveled the planes of his face, looking at his broad lips and strong jaw. He had thick eyelashes and dirty blonde hair that rested just above his eyebrows. Reaching out I rested my hand on his cheek.

“I’m leaving, I will not stand for this any longer,” my mother exclaimed, pushing out her chair and strutting towards the exit.

“It was nice to see you,” I waved, with a giggle.

She stopped to look back over her shoulder with a pained expression before making her way out of the restaurant.

“I should go,” Trevor said, with a weak voice.

“Why would you leave?” I asked, leaning in closer to him.

I noticed him look down into my breasts. He was a dirty little boy after all. He wanted to ravish me in every way my soon to be ex-husband detested. Dropping my fur coat lower on my shoulders I pulled his chair closer. Resting my hand on his shoulder while sticking out my chest, I could feel him shaking.

“There is nothing to be nervous about,” I whispered in his ear, “Come with me.”

“Where?” he asked.

Smiling I took his hand in mine, and snatched the bottle of scotch into the bloody one. Before leaving I told the man at the desk to put it on my mother’s tab, and then paraded out the front door with my young specimen in tow. Rogers pulled the car around and Trevor and I climbed into the back. He was amazed with the car, but I needed his attention back on me.

Taking his face into my red manicured hands, he finally pressed his lips down on mine. Entwined in each other and breathing heavily, his hands were stronger than I had expected and he was more aggressive than I could have predicted. His hands were traveling up and down my body and he was eagerly kissing me...regardless of the smell of scotch and stale cigarettes. He smelled of cheap cologne, but I could not have expected more from a waiter. When we arrived at my house I pulled him out of the car and raced up to the front door.

“Don’t mind the mess, I’ve just been redecorating,” I warned.

“I don’t mind,” he said, pulling me in and pushing his tongue in my mouth.

Opening the door, I raced up the stairs with Trevor only a few steps behind me. Smiling back at him, I lured him to the spare bedroom. Laying on the bed I tempted him closer with my finger. He came and laid on top of my body, but just before things could get carried away I told him to wait.

“I need to get something, but I’ll be right back,” I promised.

“Ok,” he said, excitedly.

Leaving the room I dropped my fur in the hall and stepped out of my heels.

Opening my bedroom door and quickly closing it, I looked around. On the curtains were some thick cords and on the bed buried in the feathers was the large piece of glass I had used to destroy my things. Walking over I grabbed what I needed and made my way back to the spare room.

“Close your eyes,” I called, and waited a few seconds, “Are they closed?”

“Yes,” he answered.

Tip-toeing into the bedroom I began to tie up dirty little Trevor, and stuff some of my underwear in his mouth. Laying him back on the bed I told him to open his eyes. Sitting on top of him with the large shard of glass in my hand I smiled down at him. Panic flooded his beautiful eyes as he watched me deliver his fate straight into his chest. There it was, beating and pumping inside of him - his heart.

“I asked you if you had broken any hearts...you thought breaking hearts was something to laugh about,” I said, ripping the organ from him, “Now you will never be able to break anyone’s heart ever again.”