Blood Lily - Part 2

A fiction short story.

     T.J. paced the living room floor. How had Lily allowed this to happen. He'd warned her not to try anything stupid like that. He'd reminded her about the ways of men. Fists balled at his sides he fought the urge to hit something – anything. But that wouldn't help. She was older now, and she was forgetting the pain that men inflicted upon the helpless. It was a very good thing that he stepped in when he did. She could have been hurt.

     T.J. was the pragmatic one; the protector. He'd been there for her for so many years and he knew she'd listen to him again. He would just keep reminding her - bring the pain to the surface - allow it to bubble and agitate her back into guarded paralysis.

     T.J. remembered the dress. Pushing his way down the hallway he found it where she'd dropped it, on the bedroom floor. It was pressed tightly to the carpet, creased and forlorn. Her footprints were still embedded into it; she'd tried to erase the memory of the night before.

     He picked it up and inspected the red stain along its front, then squeezed it into a ball and headed for the kitchen. Flipping the garburator to “on”, he grabbed a wooden spoon and pushed one corner of the dress into its hungry mouth, forcing it down until it disappeared, the noisy churning of its jaws the only remaining evidence of its existance. Now she could move on.

     T.J. flipped on the T.V set and dropped into the big brown suede chair. There was nothing on at this time of day; nothing worthwhile. The apartment was quiet. He'd called in sick for Lily; it was the least he could do. He knew she couldn't face Aaron just yet.

     Flipping through an endless stream of channels was something of an exercise in distraction. His rhythm broke on the Movie Channel. He recognized the film - Gardens of the Night. Gillian Jacobs was so beautiful and so broken – like his Lily. She, too, suffered under the hands of her abuser, but the perpetrator was not her father. Gillian would eventually go home. Lily could not.

     The phone rang and T.J.'s body tensed at the sound. He allowed it to ring through until the click of the message machine.  

     “Lily, it's me, Aaron. I just wanted to say...well...I'm sorry for last night. I don't know what happened exactly, but...you're not here today and I wondered if it had anything to do with me. I'd like to talk about it.” There was a heavy pause, a sigh. “Call me sometime...please.”

     T.J. stood from the chair and shuffled to the kitchen. He pressed “play” on the machine and listened again, hit “delete” and the message was gone.  

To be continued...