I look into Mary's eyes and gain a brief glimps of her reality.
Rose scented smells escape oak wood drawers. Mandy lays curled on the floor, she hasn't bothered to cover herself. She lays in wait for you, your relationship bound by black lies and blue tack. Fallen back to old ways. Old habits die hard right? Wrong. She just wants you to notice, to care and listen to her as much as you do the system. Maybe then you'd know that no pink label is enough to fill her hole of emptyness. That it's just another thing to cover it. So they don't have to look at the damage, the damage that you have caused. Not some fluro state of mania. You did this to her and you know it.
You watch her lain there as you enter this leather furnished room. Strutting about in those black polished shoes, you aimlessly drop down a blanket to cover her nakedness. Doctors are dialed, hospitals arranged. Soft, unatatched voices oozing maturity and their understanding. You have to get her out of your hands. They have to get her out of this state. This supposed state of oblivion.
But she's not oblivious. How could she be oblivious to your cold stares and hesitant love? To the way you avoid and speak of her as though she isn't there? She could never be oblivious of this bubble you create that pushes her out and forces her to hate herself? No, Mary's anything but oblivious.
Mary's eyes twinkle as she is shut into the car, taken away once again. They twinkle as they catch your eye and you know, you know exactually how aware she is right now. You nervously shove hands into beige pockets and walk away, feeling her longing eyes on the back of your head. All you need to do is turn around and give her a smile, a wave, anything that suggests some kind of personal attatchment. Anything that suggests you care. You continue to walk away. Back to your plush longue suites and flat screen devices.
A strangled gurgle escapes Mary's throat. The driver keeps on going, and going, and going. She can't handle it. Mary starts to claw at the window making screeching noises with purple nails. Anger and rage boil inside of her, like a tightly wound strand about to snap. Finally she raises a trembling fist and shoves it through the tainted glass.
And for the first time in years Mary smiles...