Wrapped in Red

Wrapped in Red

The mall was too crowded.

Amidst the dozens of people crisscrossing the shiny tile floors, the slight brunette in the black dress was hardly noticeable. Buoyed by the flurry of snow outside, she had quickly slipped in and stamped her feet on one of the cheap waterproof rugs near the entrance, the type that prevented rambunctious children from running ahead of their parents, and wrought frustration in the elderly when their walkers refused to budge.

“HAPPY HOLIDAYS!” a bright banner hanging off of the third floor boasted. Beneath it, a massive Christmas tree, burdened with glittering decorations, was the focal point of the room. Children scampered across the linoleum floors, while tired mothers halfheartedly chased them.

Glancing down, she noticed, irritatingly, a tiny hole in her sleek black stockings, just above the kneecap. The skin beneath was a muddle of green, blue, and purple. What seemed like a minuscule tear would turn into a full on run soon enough. A quick tug of her dress easily covered the malfunction, and she continued walking as if nothing had happened.

The air smelled deliciously of pine.

December had always been her favorite time of year. She had wanted a December baby, too. Celebrating a birthday in those precious few days before Christmas, the ecstatic look on her daughter's face as she tore open present after present, the glimmer of the icicle lights that decorated their house shining through the windows; all of this she still wished for.

She tried to inhale deeply, closing her eyes. A fresh wave of pain tore at her ribs, and within seconds it had her doubled over with her eyes squeezed shut. Her body would heal itself, the doctor had said, but sometimes the pain never fully disappeared. She made a beeline for the nearest table and gratefully collapsed into a chair. Her head was spinning and every breath was a struggle. Almost everything was a struggle these days.

Next to the massive tree, a fat, jolly Santa handed out small toys to every child brave enough to inquire about the giant sack, overflowing with brightly wrapped boxes that sat next to him. The children, despite the chastening from their parents, eagerly snatched the gifts with muttered thank-yous and gleefully opened them to reveal a small doll, a teddy bear, or a miniature racecar.

A girl with soft blonde curls was lifting a doll from its box. The second the wrappings fell away, a rambunctious little boy swooped in, grabbed the doll's legs, and began to pull.

"Give it back!" the girl shrieked, pushing herself up with one hand and grasping the doll with the other.

The boy, clearly larger than the little girl, tugged it away. When she reached out a tiny hand to grab it back, he impulsively kicked her in the stomach. The girl looked startled as her backside hit the floor, then promptly began to cry as pain registered in her petite face.

The woman turned away, and although her breathing was still shallow from the pain in her ribs, she eased into a standing position and walked away with her back to the children.

His foot had come at her so fast that she hadn't had time to blink. Her hands were too slow. She had made a desperate attempt to protect it, her, but the blow was fatal, the damage intended.

The red had coated the floor, seeping through her nightgown and smearing his hands as he had scooped her up and tossed her onto the bed. The burning sensation in her lower ribs, which she would later find out were broken, had rippled her entire body with pain, and the last thing she recalled seeing before slipping into unconsciousness was his hand wrapped around a bottle of vodka, leaving a mess of bloody fingerprints.

By the following day, the red had turned to a sticky black.

Relief washed over her when a women’s restroom sign caught her eye. Despite the number of shoppers, a quick push of the door revealed it to be eerily empty. She dropped her bag on the tile floor and took another shallow breath, grabbing the edge of the chrome sink and leaning close to the mirror.

Her hands shook violently as she bent down to retrieve her cell phone, barely managing to unlock it and dial her voicemail. The only missed call she had received was from a blocked number. Fear numbed her entire body as she listened intently, pressing the phone tightly against her ear.

It had to be him. He was bound to be up by now. She could only imagine the anger that creased his face when he stumbled into the driveway and noticed that her car was missing.

“Hi, this is Nick from your local Time Warner Cable and…”

He had forgotten to pay the cable bill again. Or, rather, she had. All of her earnings went toward paying the bills. All of his earnings went toward his nightly bar tab and midnight shopping trips to whatever twenty-four-hour convenience store he could stumble into to purchase more alcohol.

Luckily, the local strip club was a short bus ride away. She didn’t dare use gas, because she knew he monitored the tank levels. Her days had turned into a disturbing routine of pulling into the driveway after working all day as a paralegal assistant at a local law firm, slipping past the empty bottles on the kitchen counter, then trying to be quiet while she changed into some lace plaything. She would hook garters to her panties to hold up the fishnet stockings slouching down her skinny legs, make a quick trip to the backyard to check her funds, and board the next bus downtown, stuffing hard-earned dollar bills into the money slot as she pulled her worn black pea coat tighter to her body.

She would return well after midnight and slide into bed, where he was usually passed out, and, if not, would only halfheartedly grope her before falling asleep, too drunk to question where she had been. The next morning, after he had sobered up and left for work, she would listen for the roar of the car backing out of the driveway, the squeal of tires, before depositing the night’s earnings in a secret location behind the garden shed they never used.

That morning had been different. That morning, she had sat up in bed, ears perked for the familiar sounds of his departure, then stuffed stack upon stack of money into her old leather purse. That morning had been the beginning of a beautiful December day. That morning, she had called the firm to tell them that, regrettably, she would be missing the last day before her two-week paid holiday. Twenty-four hours didn’t seem like a lot of time, but it was enough.

The money itself was clouded with brown on the edges, the airtight seal of the jar that she had buried not strong enough to keep out microscopic particles of dust. It reminded her of the way the abuse had crept into her life. A stern pinch had turned into a slap, a kick, a blow to her lower back… The fading bruises that her dress and tights so expertly covered were the same color as the stack of bills in her wallet. The rest of the money was under lock and key, in a small metal safe stowed underneath the front seat of her car.

She swelled with pride as she retrieved her wallet from her purse, opening it up and thumbing through almost five thousand dollars in cash.

Seconds later, a shadow of fear seized her heart as she pictured him grabbing her purse with one hand and her hair with the other, tossing her like a ragdoll against the wall and taking the money. She would be lucky if that was all he would do. Pushing a mess of brown hair and her coat out of the way, her fingers traced the thumbprints on her neck, shoulders, and breasts.

A cup of coffee would surely put her nerves to rest.

She walked into Starbucks and ordered a black coffee, the largest size. The man working the cash register winked at her as he wrote her name on the cup. It was understandable. She was young and pretty, barely twenty-five. His smile faded as she reached into her wallet to retrieve a twenty and handed it to him, the white gold band on her left hand clearly visible.

“Keep the change,” she said, her voice wobbling as she pushed through the line behind her, coffee in her hand and shame in her heart.

The ring was already far too loose on her finger. It was almost as if she had worried away the weight over the past few months. Without thinking, she slipped it off and dropped it into the nearest trashcan. The action, though small, made her feel so much more free, as if the ring itself had been a giant anvil weighing on her chest, creating all of those bruises, rather than his rough hands.

Strolling around the mall, grasping a steaming cup of coffee and admiring the bustle, she almost seemed normal. Almost.

Every few seconds, a shoulder would bump into hers, and she flinched. Her instincts told her to bring her arms up in front of her face. He always went for her face first, then, with the little rationality he had left, realized a black eye or a swollen lip, anything blatantly visible, would be a dead giveaway.

She ducked into the storefront closest to her. There was a refreshing chill to the air as opposed to the cramped walkway outside, and she took a moment to exhale and wipe the beads of sweat that had formed on her forehead. It was a fancy children’s boutique, the kind that sold overpriced clothes and featured black and white stills of babies dressed like adults adorning the walls.

"Anything I can help you with?" The only employee present was casually leaning against the counter, loudly snapping her gum and staring at the screen of a smartphone. Her halfhearted greeting, sloppy cardigan, and monotonous remark proved that she was probably a college student, earning some extra pocket money during the holiday season.

The brunette shook her head, offering no explanation as she balanced her coffee cup with one hand and sifted through the racks with the other. Clothes for small children were adorable. She thought of her baby girl, all of the dresses she had been planning to buy with that cold, hard cash she had proudly earned herself. Her daughter would never want for anything. And maybe, just maybe, she would never have to yearn for a father.

A glimmer of scarlet caught her eye. One of the child-sized mannequins toward the back of the store was draped in a beautiful holiday dress, the type that little girls jumped up and down in at church Christmas Eve services. The top section was made of black crushed velvet, adorned with a string of crystals around the scoop neck. The dress puffed out at the waist. The deep red chiffon skirt fell gracefully to the ankles. Hesitantly, she reached out and ran her hand down the skirt, pinching the bottom and running the chiffon between the tips of her fingers.

She remembered nimbly dodging the half-empty whiskey bottle in the split second before it had angrily shattered on the wall behind her. Suddenly, the soft chiffon turned to shards of glass. The scarlet cloth spilling out of her hand was the red. A small cry escaped her lips before she brought her hand up to her face and hastily covered her mouth.

"Everything okay, ma'am?" The salesgirl had shoved her phone in the pocket of her jeans and was making her way through the maze of racks.

"Just shopping for my niece," she said tersely, ignoring the salesgirl's confused stare as she dropped the dress and rushed out of the store.

Once again, she had pushed herself out into the crowded pedway.

A wave of nausea rolled through her, and she chucked the half-empty cup of coffee into the nearest silver trash can, then began to walk briskly towards the exit that led to where she had parked.

The caffeine had forced her senses into overdrive. Her eyes darted from side to side as she absorbed her surroundings. Tall, beautiful women strutted past her, elegant heels clicking against the shiny linoleum floors, carrying expensive looking shopping bags with sparkling handles. She looked down in embarrassment at her own scuffed black boots. They had been a Christmas gift from him several years ago, and she had only slipped them on a few times since. That Christmas had been their first, and he had gotten her the boots, a weekend getaway at a local cabin in the mountains, and a beautiful diamond necklace.

For a moment, she was back sitting at the vanity in their bedroom, delicately removing her silk slip. He was stooping over, brushing his fingers gently across her collarbones as he wrapped the chain around her neck, skillfully working the clasp. Everything had been so perfect.

Pure instinct forced her hand up to her neck to feel for the familiar silver chain. Then she remembered several months before, when he’d woken her early in the morning, surprisingly sober, and taken her into his arms. He had kissed her, brushed her messy hair out of her eyes, and told her he loved her. She recalled falling asleep there, thinking that maybe it would be the day he could change. Several hours later, she had woken again with a headache, husband gone and necklace missing.

Her eyes traced a tall woman that was gracefully walking by, a shimmering bag from a fancy department store adorning her bony wrist. She shifted her gaze to the fading thumbprints on her own wrist.

The exit was only a few feet away, but a mannequin stopped her in her tracks. Well, not the mannequin. The red.

A ravishing garnet pea coat was draped over the shoulders of the skinny white figurine in the window of Saks department store. She admired every detail: the breathtakingly intricate stitching, the satin interior, the sleeves that widened slightly at the ends, the ebony buttons. The mannequin donned a pair of sleek silver heels, but she knew her black boots would do just fine.

Impulse tugged her into the store, where a tuxedoed doorman scanned her outfit from head to toe, shrugged, and reluctantly led her to the luxury winter wear section.

It was even more beautiful the closer she got. Her fingers delicately traced each button, then slipped inside the lapel and relished the satin interior. She petted the twill and wool exterior and marveled at this shade of red she had never seen: so bright, so brilliant.

“How much?” she asked, turning to the doorman, who had been hovering just a few feet away.

He strutted away and returned several seconds later with a laminated store catalogue. “That,” he replied, pointing to the sleeve of the coat that her hand firmly grasped, “that, ma’am, is a Burberry.”

She sensed the snobbishness in his voice and hardened her tone. “How much?” she insisted.

He sighed and ran his finger down a column in the catalogue. “Twelve hundred dollars.”

Her eyes nearly popped out of her skull. Twelve hundred. Her mind scolded her for even thinking about wasting that kind of money on such a trivial item. But her heart stung from all of the times he had snatched up her paycheck to pay the bills, using his own money to fund his deadly addiction.

“I’ll take it,” she said, surprising the man almost as much as she surprised herself.

Several minutes later, she was strolling out of Saks, fingers wrapped around a shimmering white bag with a sparkling handle. At the last second, she had decided to purchase the shoes off of the mannequin, too, for an extra four hundred dollars. She had paid in cash.

Outside, the weather had gotten worse. Flurries of snow stung her face as she scanned the crowded parking lot. Her knees knocked together from the cold and goose bumps rippled up her arms.

The coat really was beautiful. As she lifted it out of the shiny bag, its tissue paper cocoon quickly floated away. The bright red looked even more brilliant against the cloudy sky. She quickly shrugged off her black coat and hastily replaced it with the red. Almost immediately, the fabric clung to her and radiated warmth. She felt her cheeks flush from happiness as she carefully secured each button.

Deciding that the stockings would keep her legs warm enough, she kicked off her scuffed leather boots and stepped into the elegant silver heels. Then, she neatly folded her old pea coat, laid the boots on top of it, and lowered them both into the Saks bag, which she discreetly left leaning against one of the elegant pillars at the entrance to the department store.

A quick five-minute drive from the mall and she was at a drug store. It didn't take long to find the item that she needed. She slid it across the counter to the only clerk on duty, smiling.

"Find everything you needed?" he asked cheerfully, scanning the small purple box and handing her the bag. "That'll be $34.99."

She reached into her wallet and peeled two twenties from the thick stack of bills, then waited patiently as he counted out five ones and a penny as her change. Sliding the plastic bag further up her arm, she stuffed the bills into the clear plastic box in front of the register that always asked for donations to something-or-other. She dropped the penny into her wallet. He had placed it in her palm heads-up. And at that point, she would take any luck that she could get.

It had stopped snowing, but an icy chill hung in the air as she clumsily fumbled with her car keys. Once the heater roared to life, she slipped off the red coat and tossed it in the backseat. She slid the box from the plastic grocery bag, took a deep breath, and decided not to think about it just yet. Sometimes, she decided, there was a kind of beauty in not knowing.

Her baby girl was waiting.