Smudges

Her mascara was ruined, black streaks washing away under the onslaught of heavy rain, mingling with tears of frustration that she no longer tried to hide. She wiped her face with the back of her hand, smearing darkness across the sleeve of her new cream cashmere dress - another piece of her ruined and stained. Her stilettos clicked against the wet pavement, each step growing more unsteady, each breath more ragged as she put distance between herself and him.

Her phone was deafeningly silent, she wondered why he hadn’t shown, she wondered if she had imagine him, had dreamed of the incessant messages that shook her phone and her into submission…1,2,3,…12 messages in quick succession demanding the attention he needed to prop him up…and then nothing…silence as loud as the avalanche of notifications that came from him…

They had met by chance, a quick response to an IG post, him laughing, her tickled and then that question..."Whatsapp?" A casual exchange that would lead her on the road to her crazy. She was surprised by his wit, his charm, his ability to say just enough to make her feel interesting but never too much to reveal anything real about himself. He was an enigma she had been too eager to solve.

His profile photo was standard - his face open, his eyes gentle, his smile welcoming.

She shivered as the memory of his words replayed in her mind, sweet nothings typed out in perfect, practiced prose, crafted so meticulously that she could almost hear his voice whispering them. He was a master at the game, playing it from behind the safety of his screen. He controlled every moment, every conversation... and she had let him.

Her ankle twisted, a sharp pain shooting up her leg as she stumbled. She cursed the heels she had worn to feel powerful, to feel desired. How foolish she felt now, sprawled on the cold pavement, stockings ripped, palms scraped raw. Her phone clattered beside her, the screen still glowing her messages unread.

She wanted to scream at his sudden absence, at his deliberate, unnecessary cruelty. A sickening realization hit her. She wasn’t the first, and she wouldn’t be the last. He collected women, lured them in with his charm and kept them at arm's length, never close enough to touch him, never far enough to forget him. An avoidant puppeteer pulling strings just out of reach.

She picked herself up, ignoring the pain. The rain was coming down harder now, washing away the remnants of her misplaced trust, her naïve hopes. She turned off her phone, cutting herself off from him.

 The street was empty, a bleak canvas of wet asphalt reflecting the dim city lights. She wrapped her arms around herself, feeling the cold seeping in. But the chill was sobering, a brutal reminder that she was alone because she had given herself over to a lie, and with that she regressed and all the work she had put in, came undone. The broken part of her thick as veins and pumping blood through wounds that resurfaced so quickly triggered by deception. The truth was stark and ugly: she had fallen for a magician weaving illusions, a carefully constructed persona designed to evade intimacy. She had given him power over her emotions, her desires, her self-worth. And now, standing drenched and bleeding on an empty street, she felt the weight of her choices.

She let out a bitter laugh, the sound echoing off the silent buildings. How easily she had been drawn in. How desperately she had wanted to believe he was different, that she was special. She wasn’t. To him, she was nothing more than a temporary distraction to be deleted once the boredom set in. Her knees trembled, but she forced herself forward, each step breaking the invisible thread that had kept her tied to him. 

The rain continued to pour as she made her way further from him, the sound drowning out the echoes of his words, his fetishes, his insatiable desire to master and control. She felt stupid, and ashamed at how quickly she had obeyed.

As she reached the corner, the red neon sign of a café flickered, reflecting off the puddles at her feet. Sanctuary, it seemed to whisper. She pushed the door open, warmth enveloping her, the scent of coffee grounding her back to reality.

A waitress looked up, eyes widening at the sight of her soaked clothes and smeared makeup. “Rough night?” she asked softly, no judgment in her voice. She nodded, managing a small, weary smile. “Yeah... but I’m still standing!” her spirit slowly rising.

She sank into the nearest chair, her body aching, her ego bruised. But she was free, and it was going to be a long, difficult road back. but she remembered who she was, and that was all she needed. She spoke words of love to soothe herself. She had to, the lesson her taught her was brutal, a reminder that not all people were genuine or kind - and she would learn from it...

The waitress brought her a cup of coffee, steam curling up in gentle spirals. She wrapped her hands around the mug with the small cracked rim, letting the warmth seep into her bones. She took a deep breath, the silky sweet aroma removing the bitterness that had threatened to settle on her soul. 

She was still here, still standing, forever falling forward, her cracks and her broken bits held in place by belief.