Reasonable Doubt 3(8)

Taking a deep breath, I pulled out the photos and promised myself that this would be the last time I looked at them: Me and my daughter walking along the shore of New Jersey’s beach as the sun set. Her smiling as I picked up a seashell and held it against her ear. Me carrying her on my shoulders and pointing to a starry night sky.

Even though I knew doing this would lead to cold sweats and an inevitable nightmare later, I continued flipping through the photos.

Even the ones without me: The ones of her looking sad and lonely at the park, the ones of her looking off into the distance for something—or someone, that wasn’t there.

Emma…

My heart clenched at the final frame in the set. It was a shot of her fiddling with her umbrella, crying. She was upset because they were forcing her to go inside, because they didn’t understand that although she liked being at the park in broad sunlight, she preferred to play outside in the rain.





Emotional Distress (n.):


A negative emotional reaction—which may include fear, anger, anxiety, and suffering for which monetary damages may be awarded.


Aubrey

I looked terrible. Absolutely terrible.

Today was the first full costume rehearsal for Swan Lake and I didn’t look fit for the part at all. My eyes were swollen and puffy—ruined from randomly crying about Andrew, my lips were dry and cracked, and my skin was so pale that Mr. Petrova walked by and asked, “Are you playing a white swan or are you playing a white ghost?”

As much as I tried to force myself to smile through my heartache, I was crying every moment I was alone, eating an exorbitant amount of ice cream and chocolate each night, and I couldn’t sleep for shit.

I still couldn’t believe Andrew kicked me out of his condo so cruelly. One minute he was holding me against his chest and kissing me, and the next he was telling me that he and I had fucked enough—that he didn’t want me anymore, and that he was going to fuck someone else.

What was worse, was that when we returned to work that following Monday, he’d been twice as rude to me. He reassigned me to a case that would take me months to sort, scolded me in front of everyone for being ten seconds late, and then he had the audacity to complain about me smiling as I brought him his daily coffee.

At least I spit in it…

“Are you crying right now?” The make-up assistant tilted my chin up. “Do you know how expensive this stage mascara is?”

“I’m sorry.” I froze my eyeballs to their sockets and held back tears.

“I didn’t see your parents’ names on the guest list for today. Are they coming to the second run through on Saturday?”

“No.”

“I guess they just want to see the full on show with no stops then, huh?” She laughed. “My parents are the same way. I told them about the number of run-throughs we have to do and they said they’ll see it when it’s finished. They’re all about perfection.”

“Unfortunately, I can relate…”

She laughed and blabbered on and on, making me silently count the seconds until she was done.

When she pressed my face with the last puff of powder, she spun me around to face the mirror on the other side of the room.

“Wow…” I whispered. “Seriously, wow…”

I didn’t look like I’d been crying at all. Although my eyelids were covered in dark eye shadow, and she’d dabbed a fake tear trail past my right eye, I looked as if I was the happiest woman on earth.

“Miss Everhart?” Mr. Petrova asked, stepping behind me. “May I borrow you for a second?”

“Yes, sir.” I followed him through the backstage doors and outside to the empty stretching area.

“Have a seat on the bench, Miss Everhart.” He took a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it.

The smoke unfurled in spirals between us and he looked me up and down. For some odd reason, he looked more upset than usual, like he was about to yell at me.

“Mr. Petrova…” I said softly. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No.” He shook his head. “I brought you out here alone because I want you to know that you looked fat during practice yesterday. Too fat.”

“What?”

“Even though you danced the part of the black swan beautifully, capturing the right degree of anger and sadness, you failed—fucking failed, with the white swan.” He coughed. “You looked like your mind was elsewhere. Like it was killing you to be happy for five minutes, and to top it off, you’ve gotten fat.”

I rolled my eyes and tuned him out, focusing on the cars whirring down the street. I wasn’t disturbed by his insults anymore. Him calling me fat was nothing compared to the things he said to me last week.