Stories Written In The Dark

My Sister Always Said I Had A Big Mouth

Trigger Warning: Mentions of distant, neglectful, possibly abusive parental relationships. 

My sister always said I had a big mouth. I didn't mind. Maybe that's why I never had too many friends my age in school, at college, or even in the office. My entire social circle seemed to consist of older men and women whose joints creaked as they walked. 

My sister, Morgan once threw a party at our house while my parents were outside for work, though if you asked her, they were just sucking up to anyone willing to pay them a dime. My parents think she's so rude because they had to send her away to my dad's way more liberal side of the family when mom got sick.

Maybe that's why we never got along. 

"You have such a big mouth Sandra! Be careful, or one day you won't be able to close it again."

I never paid attention to her. Rules are rules. They exist for a reason. My friends didn't get this either. Maybe that's why I never had too many, or why the ones I did have always asked for free tutoring.

"Tattletale."

"Snitch."

"Blabbermouth."

I got bullied more than once for it, but my mom and dad always made it up to me. I never broke rules. I wasn't like Morgan. I didn't pester mom and dad into taking me to the playground. I never snuck out or went outside. I stayed home and studied like a good little girl. 

I deserved Christmas presents. I deserved birthday parties. So I got them. Morgan didn't. That isn't controlling. That's fair. My parents were the kind of people who gave us what we deserved, not what we wanted. 

But now...I wonder. Maybe they were wrong? I don't know. I honestly don't know anymore. 

I remember the day it started. It was a Monday morning, and I got up nice and early. I stretched and put on the biggest smile I could make. My father liked it better when I smiled. He said it helped him get work done, so he could come back to me and mom as quickly as possible. 

When I walked to the office, people were giving me weird glances. I was confused, and asked Dave, one of my co-workers, what'd happened. He'd always been nice to me. Nicer than most, at least.

I will never forget the way he looked at me. The anger and betrayal, splattered onto his face for everyone to see. It sent shivers down my spine, reminding me of how my father looked when he was mad. I never liked it when he got mad. Bad things happened when dad got mad. I had to be good, so he wouldn't get mad. So we could be a big, happy family.

"Dave?" I asked.

He stared at me, and I shivered again. Ice crept up my spine. 

That's when I noticed his eyes. They were wild, with purple bags underneath them. Like an animal that'd been locked in a cage, deprived of any happiness or joy in the world. 

"Dave?"

He screamed, lunging at me with full force. I shrieked for help, but no one rushed to my aid. He kicked and punched like a wild animal, a rabid dog. All while chanting the same word: 

"WHY?"

"WHY?"

"WHY?"

Pain erupted in every part of my body. Blood spilled from my mouth as I spat out pieces of teeth. Bruises formed on my face while he ripped apart my hair. I shouted at him to stop, pleaded until I had no more voice left to do anything other than weep. 

An eternity passed before security arrived. As they took him away in handcuffs, he screamed at me. 

"You'll pay for what you did to me! I'LL KILL YOU! YOU'LL PAY!"

I passed out after that. 

When I woke up, I was in agony. My mouth hurt like someone had drilled a hole through all of my teeth. My scalp burned, and every time I tried to lift a finger my body flat-out rejected the idea. My hair had been torn apart, with bald patches appearing from thin air every few minutes. 

But you know what was worse? Worse than going through Hell and back?

It's the fact that no one cared.

When I got back to work, people acted like it was no big deal. No one wanted me to get better. In fact, when I came back they looked...disappointed. As if, somehow, me being healthy again was the worst thing that ever happened to them.

The only time they spoke to me was to tell me that I sucked. I couldn't believe it. A few days before the incident, I'd called the higher-ups to tell them I saw someone drinking on the job through one of the windows. 

It was Dave. Dave, who'd always been kind to me. Dave, who'd pick me up and make me feel better when no one else could. I, like always, had ruined someone's life. And this time, I couldn't just say that it was his fault and get away with it. I'd destroyed him. He lost everything because of me. 

He'd been drinking because he was celebrating his husband's birthday. He died years ago, but he kept celebrating his birthday because he knew his husband would've wanted it. Because, when your life shatters, all you can do is smile through the cracks. 

The drink, it turns out, had been a wine bottle full of orange juice he'd brought in as a joke for some friends.

My decline was steep after that. I've stopped going to work. People shun me more than anything else. Most days I can't even get out of bed. When I do...I scream. What stares back at me in the mirror... can't be me. I refuse to believe it.

My mouth won't close. It just hangs wide open, revealing a void of darkness that seems to be expanding by the second. I don't have the stomach to look in the mirror anymore. It's not just my mouth either. Everything's gone wrong. I want to scream, to cry. To pull out my remaining hair and stomp on it.

But every time I try to say a word, a phrase, a sentence, even scream, nothing comes out. The word comes up my throat, and dies there. Eternal silence. Deafening silence. I don't know what to do anymore. 

It's ironic, really. My sister always said I had a big mouth.

And now it'll never close again.