Bloodied Roots

The front door slammed shut. She shivered as she glanced at the clock hanging on the wall beside her. Five past eleven in the evening, the latest he had got home so far this week. The potent scent of alcohol wafted into the plain, grey living room where she sat on the sofa’s edge, twisting her wedding ring around her finger to stop her hands from shaking. As they locked eyes, she jumped up and held her breath.

“Hi darling, long day at work?” she asked with a soft smile, though her lips quivered as she spoke. He threw his bag on the armchair and slumped down onto the sofa.

“Get me a drink, will you? And blow that candle out. The smell is making me feel sick.”

Many dark moments I had witnessed over the past few months. The couple were newlyweds not so long ago, but it seemed as soon as the honeymoon period had passed (and it did, fast), their bliss turned into a horror show, full of violence and hate. The happiness they had once shared disappeared when his job demanded more from him, adding stress that he didn’t know how to cope with. After the hair-pulling, punching and disgusting remarks became the norm when he needed to relieve his frustration, she had learnt not to answer back and act swiftly when required.

The woman was frail, with thinning blonde hair, only allowed to wear dresses and exist to serve. Though she never left the house, she wore makeup to hide her bruises, as per his orders. He looked like a typical young business executive, though he had a receding hairline already and his voice was far from masculine, squeaking with every insult spat at her.

I watched as she walked over to the candle and blew it out. The smoke wafted over to where I sat, in my grey ceramic pot, and smothered my leaves. If only there were a window open to let the smoke out. If I had a mouth, I would be choking.

I heard a bottle cap twist open and liquid sloshing into a glass from the next room. The woman walked back in, carrying the glass, and set it down on the table in front of him. He snatched it up, the liquid almost spilling over the edge, and downed the dark brown liquid in two gulps. Whiskey was his poison. I heard him bellow for it often enough.

She had not left the house in over three months. Each day, she cleans, she cooks, she cries. Once such a beautiful young woman, her face has morphed into something puffy, with no sign of hope. Her smile was such a beautiful sight, but it vanished the night she realised she married a monster. With no family nearby and friends who had lost interest after she ghosted them, she was utterly alone, apart from him. Her world was a tornado of nightmares and depression, and she didn’t know how to make it stop. Behind her eyes, you could see her questioning how she ended up in her hellish situation.

“Rubes, another”.

Ruby retrieved his glass and scurried back into the kitchen to pour him another. I noticed it took an extra few seconds for her to return. Because of this, I felt a shift in the air, almost as if the mood had changed without reason, causing one of my leaves to twitch.

The second glass of whiskey went in seconds, and before Ruby could sit down, he grabbed her wrist.

“I’ve had a shit day. We lost a major client, and it’s down to me to make things right. So I hope you’re going to be good for me tonight,” he said with a snarl.

His grip tightened as she tried to turn away, noticing a lipstick stain on the bottom of his shirt.

“David, please” she whimpered, “why don’t you have a lie-down and I’ll put the TV on for you”.

His face twisted in shock, and he pulled her to the floor. “Don’t you dare tell me what to do, bitch.”

He reached for the zip on his trousers and pulled it down. As he did, his arms dropped to his sides and his mouth began opening and closing like a fish blowing bubbles, as if he was trying to talk but couldn’t. Ruby released herself from his hand and stepped back. I watched as she staggered out of the room. The candle smoke had passed, but the atmosphere in the room sat heavy, swirling around him, making me long for air.

Ten minutes passed before Ruby returned. I couldn’t quite see what she was holding, something longish that made a vein in her upper arm pop as she raised it. 

Ah, a hammer.

I am nothing but a simple house plant. Though I can think and feel, plants don’t dream, I’m aware of that, but at that moment, it felt like I was watching something that couldn’t be real. With his head against the arm of the sofa, David lay with his feet still on the floor, trousers half unzipped. His eyes were wide and darted from left to right as he grunted, trying desperately to move.

Terror shone in Ruby’s eyes as she swung the hammer down onto his head not once, but seven times with a sickening crunch; blood and brains spewing all over the floor and wall.

My leaves suddenly felt heavier. That’s when I could taste a metallic tang seeping into my roots. I was covered in blood. She stood, hammer still in hand for a few moments, looking down at her husband, with his head in pieces.

After the realisation had kicked in, she placed the hammer down delicately on the table, next to the whiskey glass, the remains of the crushed pills she put in them, sitting at the bottom, catching her eye. Her fear had long left her eyes, and been replaced with relief. A glimpse of a smile showed before her head tilted back and she laughed hysterically; her body swaying as if she’d just stepped off a merry-go-round. She had been scared and empty inside for so long; it seemed every emotion she had locked away inside her was finally being released.

Once her moment of hysteria had passed, she grabbed the rest of the bottle of whiskey and drank from it until it was empty. She noticed me then, saw my leaves dripping in the sticky residue that had escaped from her husband, fetched a cloth and wiped me clean. Ruby had always cared for me with so much love. She fed me, watered me and wiped the dust from my leaves whenever it gathered. She often moved me in front of the window where we sat together and drank in the sunlight.

I felt much better after she cleaned me up. She held on to my longest leaf as tears brimmed in her eyes, before falling down her face. They didn’t look like tears of guilt, no; they appeared to be tears of sadness for the happy life she once had, before David’s drinking problem and infidelity ruined their marriage, and turned him into a sick, heartless, coward of a man.

Ruby let me go and tiptoed over to the sofa, where she curled herself up against the lifeless torso of her husband. He was probably still warm. Then she closed her eyes, and let exhaustion overtake her body, and she slept.

...

The moon shone through the curtains, illuminating the living room, once grey, now splattered with red. Though nestled with a mutilated dead body, Ruby slept better than she had in months; one arm draping over his legs, now stiff. Luckily, the room was garden-facing, so passersby couldn’t witness the horror that occurred.

I wonder what Ruby will do when she wakes. Will she forget for a moment the act she has committed? Or will she wake up remembering, still smiling at successfully putting an end to her hellish life?

I wonder if I look any different. I’m beginning to feel strange. Though the blood had been wiped from my leaves, it had already begun seeping through my soil, deep into my roots, and had been mixing with my nutrients for the past eight hours. It must be altering my colouring.

I feel my thoughts getting darker, as if poisoned by the same evil that had consumed David. My leaves feel stronger, as if I could use them the way humans use their arms; perhaps wrap them around something, scratching and squeezing until all that’s left is a shell of a being. A body of something once living with hope, then barely clinging on to life, the way Ruby ended up. What an awful thought. Ruby didn’t deserve her torture, but David sure as hell met his fate. I hope I can control this darkness that is overcoming me. I’m not too sure if I like it.

Now to wait for an insect to test out my new strength.