"St. Catherine of Alexandria," (female rage collection) by Caravaggio, 1598

a Christian martyr beheaded in Egypt who is patroness of students, unmarried girls and apologists.

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Rain hammered down the length of my frame as I walked the streets of my neighborhood, retracing the steps that would lead me back home. The wet chill of water engulfed my body, dragging heavily through my clothes, making me shiver at its touch.

A few cars passed me along the road, their tires spraying water and making a swishing noise as they passed by. The chill of the water ached into my cheeks but I didn't mind the sensation.

I smiled softly to myself, enjoying the gentle splattering of the rain. The quiet hum of the raindrops drumming against objects around me. The fragrant smell of the wet world around.

After about twenty minutes I finally found my way to my house. Gazing up at the windows and the light emitting inside, I pictured the heat of the furnace, the soft warmth of my bed. I loved the cold and the fresh air. But I definitely loved the heat and confines of my shelter.

Gladly, I strutted up the front porch steps and entered my house, humming softly to myself between cold breaths.

My feet squeaked onto the floor as an encompassing heat caressed my cheeks, further reminding me that I did indeed like the warmth as much as I had liked the cold. I closed the door behind me and began shuffling out of my coat when a gasp clipped the air behind me.

"Alys!" My mother hissed as she rounded the corner from kitchen across the room, her dark blue gaze glaring at my clothes dripping water all over the hardwood. "You can't just barge in here like this! It's raining, you know that! Strip your shoes and jacket on the porch instead of letting the water damage the new floors."

We both glanced to the floors that had been destroyed by my entrance. "...Mom," I dryly reminded, "You bought water resistant floors because you swore that they were god's holy gift. I haven't done anything that would ruin them."

"What?" She blinked unsure for a moment. "Oh I said no such thing," she finally swatted her hand impatiently at me, "God's holy gift? I would never be so dramatic."

But I could tell that she had composed herself from my words, which meant she really did remember the fiasco of having them installed.

"But even if they are water resistant Alys, they won't clean themselves. This is not rocket science! I have guests coming- I've kept this house immaculate. You should know better." My mother's face scrunched a bit as she said these words. Her auburn hair was pulled tightly and neatly in braided bun, her dark blue eyes narrowed slightly and she tried to loosen the grimace on her pretty face.

Breathing in deep for a moment she finally continued more professionally. "You know this Hun. But now," her eyes dropped impatiently to the brown muddle, "you have a chore that was never there before. Think before you act Alys. You need to clean this up quickly, I don't want my friends to see this mess when I've spent the day making the rest of the house so presentable."

She turned to face the living room beside us, her hands carefully moving the umbrella holder ever so lightly.  She didn't say the words that came next to her mind. She hardly moved her face at all. But I could hear it clearly. See it easily.

She was proud of this room she was in control of. She was pleased with the obedience it seemed to give her; all in the form of consistency, predictability, and self made beauty. It didn't fight her, once molded. It became what she wanted without bouncing back.

It wasn't like me.

My heart had felt tight as she had scolded me. I should know not to take her words to heart, especially after all these years, but I still resented the way she reprimanded me over my trivial mistakes. All the while refusing to acknowledge her own immense ones.

I watched her uncomfortably as she breathed in deeply. I fought back. I wasn't obedient. And I was on my own.

My mother wasn't the type of woman to commit to something inconsistent. She didn't care about my problems, couldn't care. Why would she? I created them in my ignorance of manners and social life. My problems were born from my own faults.

And she couldn't help what wouldn't be molded.

Yet even my mother had a line that she wouldn't cross. My personal struggles were tolerable... Unless seen by her side.

She hadn't minded that I would have been late today and have failed a test. But that all changed when she realized it would come back to her if I got detention. That book-club acquaintance would have gossip material if she saw me there. And my mother's precious image would be marked.

She exhaled detestably as she glanced back at the dirt beneath us, clearly irked I had yet to move. "Did you hear me Alys?"

I said stiffly "I don't want to track any more mud further. Could you hand me the mop?"

Her eyes shot up to mine, before quietly she turned and left, rummaging around a closet down the hall from me. I could hear her sorting through cleaning supplies- probably obsessively trying to determine the best one for my crimes.

My fingers trembled for a second and I pressed them into my leg. My eyes scanned left and looked at the room again. Funny how something so inconspicuous could have such a mental weight to it.

My mother had the compulsion to have everything perfect; she'd do anything to make sure the reputation of her house and her life- or anything for that matter- were in order; pristine and absolutely god awfully clean.

As I waited, my eyes traveled around the room and reacquainted myself with how everything was a different shade of white. Plain carpet was bordered by dull walls which held tanned bookshelf's and cream colored fake flowers.

Everything around screamed order and composure. It was like walking into a picture off a magazine and I hated that feel; contrary to the genes people assumed would be passed down to me.

A second more and my mother had returned with a mop, some rags, and a little cleaning bottle. She handed me the wooden handle.

"A chore now from an avoidable carelessness before," she said coolly, "My guests will be here soon so make haste too. Put everything away when you're done."

She held eye-contact incessantly at the end, letting me know she wanted them to appreciate this flawless part of her word, and she was concerned that I might ruffle a pillow or perhaps horribly leave a cup in the sink. I know, I know- I was the devil in disguise.

"I have homework to do so just tell Betsy and Linda that I said Hi. I'm afraid I won't be able to stay down for much of your arrangements, so just call me if you need me."

She smiled approvingly at my words and brushed my cheek.  Finally, my mother leaned forward and placed a kiss carelessly upon my forehead. I didn't say anything, nor moved to show any rejection or acceptance. The mop tightened in my hand as the puddle grew menacingly beneath me and I prayed she wouldn't notice.

My blankness wasn't missed though.

"Alys, why can't you smile every now and then? You know it kills me to see you so glum all of the time."

I almost smiled at the immediate cruel joke that I heard in her words. But if I dared let that sneer out, I knew it would cause a problem. Something about today had already pushed me over the edge. Waking up late. The stress of Mr. Hasten's class. The resentment of another for manipulating people. The uncomfortable reminder Mr. Jackson was probably a pedophile in disguise. And now this. My mother asking me to smile. Saying it "kills her" I'm so glum.

I almost smiled at that. Almost. But it wasn't the smile my mother was asking for. If would be angry, maniacal, and would probably ensue with insane laughter. But I wouldn't let my demon get its way.

"Alys?" She questioned, nervous at my moment of silence. In her voice though, within a small thread of tension of what might have been shame, I was able to find some form of pity within me. I loved her because she was my mother. But I hated the person she was.

My light blue eyes traced her face. "You're a bit flustered at this." I said lightly, gently moving a loose bang that curled around her ear and jawline, "Don't be. You look great." And at that I finally smiled at her. Small. But genuine.

My mother saw things like this as flaws to correct or hide.

But I liked flaws; they were the beginnings to the truth.

She looked at me curiously but finally smiled herself. "I'm surprised you noticed. I despise my hair for this.... but thank you. I suppose it does still look good today."

She placed another kiss on my forehead, this one a moment longer than the last, before her expression cooled again and off she went.

I began mopping the floors and the crime-scene of my clothes. The phone rang and after a few seconds I heard my mother laugh and excitedly discuss different rumors that were new to their ears. Her new best friend who was a part of some god awful neighborhood righteousness club seemed to have ample subject material.

I finished cleaning a pathway so more visitors could come in and create their own awful mistake. I moseyed off to my room instantly- biting back a small smile as I thought about the ladies panicking once they realized they trampled the queen's new floors. No doubt they would try to cover the mess before my blessed mother returned.

I quietly trotted up the stairs, breathing in deep, trying to rid myself of the strain and unease of the day . I entered my room, closed the door, punching in the lock which instantly made me feel like I was finally home. My eyes gleamed to the room around.

The walls were tacked full of hundreds of sketches; their drawings breaking free from over one another. They appeared partially illuminated from the window's grey light that caught the underside of their uplifted corners and sides. Sketchpads and pencils littered the floor, desk, and especially my bed. The meaning of flawlessness and perfection was dead in this room. And it was lustrous to look at.

I knew the only reason my mother turned a blind eye to this chaos was because she had given up on my internal workings. And with that, she had also given up concerning herself with any complications that came with it. She had decided to forsake any responsibility from my social life; the bad and good included.

It was undoubtedly born from resentment of my younger years, from when she had forced me to see new psychiatrist after psychiatrist. But it was all for a lost cause. I couldn't talk to them about anything, and she finally gave up; on both my mental health, and on our relationship.

I would watch her with a guarded glare though. She was the reason I wouldn't talk to them.

She wouldn't let me tell the truth.

She wouldn't let me shatter the lie she worked so hard to create.

And then somehow in the end, she had become angry and disappointed after none of the psychiatrist could fix me; to fix the last part of her remembrance to our old lives.

She paid the consequence of that now as I stood within a paper cocoon, all my pencils and graphites laughing and singing as they bid me to join them. The demon within me finally smiled. I stretched my body and stumbled over to my bed and dug a notebook out of the side of my blanket.

I opened up the pages and flipped through them bit by bit, trying to find a project that my hands called to attend to. Sometimes, the saner me would glance around the room and be taken aback by how much I drew. For I drew everything. Even beyond the illusions of my school's lies.

I absorbed the one below me; a sudden mental barrier breaking and transporting me into a different world and place.

I had drawn the man on the bus who always smiled gently when he'd notice some family swinging their hands and laughing against one another. He always looked like he was remembering better times. I craved to know what they were. I wanted to draw those treasures that he had; seeing his smile that was beautiful and soft... even though it was sad.

I wanted more than anything to return him to those memoires he yearned for. Though, I'm sure, he had no idea that I also shared his private and sacred desire. But still, I drew those dreams hoping in some way, they could affect reality. That perhaps, when my lead dragged its lines, it would breathe reality across the bus; like somehow my art would allow him to hold hands with faceless figures, in some forgotten house, amongst littered dreams.

My lips parted as I blew a soft breath to tremor the white paper against my grasp. But the picture I was staring at was only that lonely man, not him within that phantom sanctuary I created solely for his eyes. I gazed upon his image, merely sitting quietly in a bus seat; his gaze turned to the outside world... watching, waiting.

I exhaled softly, the quietness captured within the pages seeming to calm my inner gears. My fingers rubbed the paper's edge before I finally turned it silently. More drawings flickered by as my eyes devoured the old works.

Some were of birds flying in the sky, and some were of trees or objects in a room. I smiled slightly as I traced my fingers over a damaged leaf that I had drawn. I could imagine the rough texture, the fragile crisp, and the decaying smell that I knew the real one sustained.

I soon stared into the eyes of a cat, its darkened mineral gleaming in contrast to the white surface. The face was scrunched as it hissed towards me; its sharp teeth bared in fear. I titled my head observing the reflection drawn within its irises. Finally the image disappeared as the paper tilted by. I stopped as a graphite version of Hayden's eyes met mine.

I froze instantly. My hand was awkwardly holding the previous page in mid-turn, and some subconscious whisper informed me that I wasn't breathing. But I stared at those eyes continuously.

There was no fear in this unmoving state. I was mesmerized by the strange content beneath me. There were no puppet strings, there was no gavel. There was nothing but a man sitting in silence.

It wasn't abstract.

It was plain.

The still life of Hayden always tightened my muscles, freezing my mind, trapping me within some rare image that was never meant to be seen. But I had captured the few seconds where his mask had partially slipped away from his face.

The sketch was tinted and shadowed, its lines heavy and grooved against all the strain to precisely mirror his face and emotions. Hayden was merely siting at his desk, staring off into some into lost dream that the window seemed to hold.

As much as this psychopath made my blood boil- he could also freeze it instantly when I caught sight of these hidden moments. He didn't have any false smile or grinning charm- but when he was like this- he was just as enchanting. Like a dangerous star in a cold and empty space.

It was at times like these that I could subside my disgust. I could examine this predator while his claws were sheathed, his fangs were covered, and there were no walls to hide his true form.

He was a flame that I knew would burn me if I ever reached out. He tried to give the illusion of being controlled and composed; something dangerously innocent. But he had failed here. He wasn't calm, he wasn't contained...

He was this feral, revolting, beauty. He was dangerously captivating, and I knew that I should look away.

But my hand would still move and I would trace his face so easily; I had his eyes drawn down to a science. And at these few moments I caught him when his guard wasn't up; when he was blankly staring off into space, I couldn't help but to fall in some distant mindset. Like I was in a different reality, all alone in a cold empty space, watching the white light burn of a destructive sun.

The paper beneath me seemed to tremor. I realized my fingers had that small quiver of something flash through them. My eyes danced along the image of Hayden and I fought to decipher the strange shadow he casted. What was he thinking? What made him the way he was? Why did he look.... almost anguished as he looked off into the distance?

These moments were truly rare. These glimpses never lasted long. One of his friends would come back, and an eclipse would disrupt my drawing; some warped mask instantly maturing on his face.

I exhaled softly and flipped away from his picture and to the next ones until I boredly put back down my notebook, opting to get some sleep instead. The pouring rain from outside my window felt like a lullaby and I closed my eyes to the sound, slowly fading away from the papers that surrounded me.

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"Alys, stop playing with your dolls and come here."

I looked up from my dollhouse and let my eyes wander over to my mother. She raised an eyebrow at my lack of movement and I hesitantly approached the man at the door.

"This is Officer Andrews, remember? He wants to ask you a few questions."

I looked at my mom as she towered above me and I tugged nervously at my princess pajamas. The man looked down at me and I avoided his eyes, but he just smiled gently and bent down on his knees to reach my level.

"And how are you little Miss?"

He patted my head but I still didn't move.

"I heard that you turned six yesterday? Is that right?" he continued as he ruffled my hair gently, coaxing me to talk with him. I quietly nodded my head and glanced quickly to my mom as her smile tightened.

"She's just shy," my mother's lips breathed towards the officer, "She's just an odd little girl, playing within her fantasy world."

I looked back at the man with unsure eyes. "You can trust me, Alys." He smiled and my mom gently patted my shoulders.

"You know her Clayton; she's hard to get to open up." Her laugh vibrated above me, and I leaned slightly into her because the officer tried to brush a hair away from my face. I bit my lip as I kept my unsure gaze dancing across his face.

"Alys, would you mind explaining to me about-" yet his voice drifted away as his eyes rose to something behind me. I squeezed my fist tighter as I saw a smile slowly rise on his lips and he began to stand. He grinned now as he once again towered over me; his chuckle brought forth as he nodded his head in courtesy to whatever now stood behind me.

My neck tingled and my mom rubbed my shoulders slowly but I couldn't control the feeling that was slicing at my back.

"Oh no," I murmured and felt nausea take over completely. My stomach turned and I collapsed against the floor, my mother's calls barely registering into my ears. I gagged painfully as I felt the sickness take over and all food in my stomach fight against the back of my lips. Blackness finally stole me away.

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I jerked awake as the cold sweat still clung to my body, and my shirt stuck slightly to my back. My chest rose and fell with quick movements as a thundering heartbeat ruptured underneath my skin.

I ran my hands through my hair and squeezed my eyes shut as I tried to fight the horrible taste of the dream in my mouth. I looked at the clock and realized it was only seven. The soft voices and quick laughter soon presented themselves to my ears and I realized that my mother's friends were already here. I heard her laugh breaking through the room, so familiar compared to the rest.

I exhaled shakily and scooted myself back until I was rested up against the backboard of my bed. My body still felt exhausted so I pulled myself into a ball, damning that dream for returning again.

No matter how I tried to calm myself, my heart still pounded heavily and the taste in my mouth was slowly becoming too much to handle. I immediately started to crave something from the fridge to subside its ache.

I quietly slid off my bed and headed for the door, unlocking it silently and scooting out into the hall. I descended down the stairs but didn't let my presence be known as I scooted around the corner and slid unnoticeably into the kitchen.

"Oh isn't this just delightful?"

"Yes, I love it! Oh and look at this one, wouldn't I just look fabulous?"

I opened the fridge and retrieved the orange juice, my taste buds quivering at the idea of the citrus. I heard my mom chuckle as one of her new friends pondered over their new favorite shopping site. "To think that they had such a great sale. Tell me Juliana, how did you find such a place?"

"Well, it was no easy task..." My mother elongated the severity of her accomplishment. The cup filled quickly and I returned the orange juice while still eyeing my awaiting container. "But I managed to get a few words in with those fashion scouts who attended The Woman's Show. They gave me a little inside knowledge, and so that's how I knew this was the place for style and deals!"

At last I chugged back the cup filled with cold liquid. After having the sour taste of those dreams, the citrus felt sharp and energized.

"I have to buy some of these for my two daughters. Oh and what about you Juliana, don't you have a daughter also. Oh where is she I would love to meet her."

My eyes opened and that glass titled away from my face as I realized my mother would soon cast my name upon us all as she called for me. I wondered what her new friend would think of me. I knew the others were disillusioned by my mother to think I was deathly shy, though they still loved to have me attend their groups with them. They found too much fun in gawking at my lack of style, and trying to help me be the pretty little darling. All of them like mother hens, clucking and becoming flustered as they tried to prune my rustled feathers.

"Oh no, that's not a good idea." My mother cooed and I creased my eyebrows together. "You see, she's rather sick so I don't think it's best to see her right now."

I heard the murmurs of condolences and mumbles of silly remedies that might help, and my mother simply thanked their generosity before continuing on to discuss the lovely new bakery shop.

A quiet bitter laugh escaped my nose. I wondered what I was doing in this lovely life that she had created. I was the painful eye sore and she didn't want me to be shown any more than I had too. If only she could just make me who she wanted to be, I thought easily, and then her little faerie tale would be complete.

I walked back upstairs and wandered to my room again. My presence had never been noticed. The journal waited patiently and I picked it up and began drawing a new piece of art in swift fast motions. So many ideas pooled into my head and my hands had a hard time keeping up with them.

I thought of her ignorance, her stupidity. I thought of her lies and her idea that she had this perfect life when she didn't. It all came out and my pencil threatened to snap under the strain of my hand.

I wanted to scream, I wanted this god awful life of mine to change but I couldn't find anything to hold onto besides that masks and costumes that littered my vision. My mother was a smoke and mirror play and she wouldn't let people see what she didn't want them to see.

She twiddled her hand here and diverted their attention while a deceiving act became invisible under that illusion. I was hidden under fog and cloaks and only when it was a planned time- would she pull me out of the hat before tossing it aside.

But it wasn't a grand Broadway act- she wasn't as amazing as she seemed. My mother was a magician wishing for real magic and almost convincing herself that it was. And I sat back stage and waited for my time to show as the little white bunny that had no life beyond the illusions its master cast.

But I wouldn't be that. I would never let her reveal me as just her trick, only to be vanished the next second. I was more than her lies and of all the lies around me. And I promised myself that I would never join that parade that never seemed to end.

Liquid betraying slid down my cheeks, beginning to ruin the print below me. Both hands stopped moving, two pencils ceasing, leaving me staring at the work I created from them. Letting go of the the pencils I rubbed my face to stop the droplets and fought to keep myself under control.

The memories came spilling back in and I fought against them but the taste of the dream came back to my mouth. I picked up my cell phone immediately and called Karri as fast as my fingers could dial.

It rang only twice before a cheery voice asked answered my call.

"What's up Al?"

"Hey can I come over?"

"What's wrong? Alys are you alright?"

"No, I'm fine. I just want to hang out. Even if for only a few minutes, mom's got guest and they are too loud by half."

"Hmmm, okay. I think dad won't care for just a bit. I'll meet you halfway. I'm leaving right now." Her reply was immediate and it was at times like these I thanked god for giving me Karri.

"Okay," I sighed slightly and hung up the phone.

I looked over one more time at the present drawing and felt disappointment that my mother had still not changed over the years.

"When," I murmured quietly, those dreams still battling behind my thoughts, "when will finally try to save us...

from what you had done?"

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A/N:

I apologize that this update took so long. I work full time, go to college, and my health has been acting up. But I have the next few chapters all written, they just need some more editing. I'll try to upload them as soon as they are done.

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