Free Down Shift by K. Bromberg

finally look over to him, his eyes meet mine with more understanding than I expected. He holds my gaze for a moment before acknowledging my request with a slow and steady nod.
    â€œI can understand that more than you’ll ever know.”

Chapter 5
GETTY
    T hunder rattles the windows in the early morning. The clouds swirling and tumbling across the horizon block any sunlight.
    The weather fits my mood and the mood is reflected on the canvas in front of me. Dark splashes of color rich in hue marble together to reflect a violent sky ready to erupt.
    Music plays in my earbuds—a hard beat, a deep bass—and yet I couldn’t tell you the lyrics if I tried, because I’m so focused on what’s in front of me. I’m so engrossed because with each stroke of my brush, a part of my past leaves me with the movement.
    Criticism. Control. Punishments. Expectations. Requirements. And the list goes on from my old life. My monochromatic one.
    I dip my brush in a deep blue and slide it across the canvas.
    Your art isn’t allowed in this house. It will amount to nothing. Good wives host parties. They have tea and join the Women’s League and their job is to make their husbands look better. Not this ridiculous bullshit.
    My thumb smears the blue with the gray. A wash of two colors together. Blending into the background.
    Ethan doesn’t mean it, Gertrude. He’s a man focused on business and making it a success. He doesn’t have timefor your female idiosyncrasies. You can’t blame him that you didn’t do your job properly. God, how I wish your mother was still around so she could show you how to be a proper lady, because regardless of how much schooling I’ve paid for, for you, you seem always to fail at it.
    Dark gray right on the center. Harsh strokes. Pressing the paint into the canvas until it bleeds into its fibers.
    What do you think you were trying to pull tonight, Gertrude? Do you think I don’t know you wanted Fred? I saw you talking to him. I saw you laugh differently. I saw you flirt. Do you really think any man would find you attractive? For Christ’s sake, look at you. You’re ten pounds overweight. Your makeup is smeared like a damn teenager. Do you think anyone else would ever want to fuck you? It’s a chore to make myself hard enough to do it. You should thank your lucky stars you have me, because no one else would take you. Now get on your knees and give me a proper apology.
    Tears on my cheeks. Salt on my lips. The storm on the canvas and on the other side of the window feels nothing like the one I rage against daily inside me. Dabs of white. The froth of an angry ocean. The sign of churning turmoil. Of the ocean fighting against the shore.
    Don’t walk out that door, Gertrude. That is an order. I will cut off your trust. Your credit cards. Everything. This is just a phase. You don’t really want to divorce Ethan. No Caster has EVER been divorced. You just need to be more compliant and do what he says. If he’s happy, then the company will remain in good standing and everything will be better. Gertrude. Get back here. Gertrude!
    I fan black around the edges. Darkness. Sadness. Loss. All mixed together in an endless cycle.
    The dark of night: my car packed with clothes and mementos of the woman I don’t really remember but have the invisible scars to prove I used to be.
    The bank manager: I’m sorry but all withdrawals need to be signed for by both parties on the account. And it seems to me that your debit card has been canceled as well. Hmm. How very odd.
    The pawnshop. My jewelry lining the countertop. Diamonds and emeralds and platinum and rubies. Trinkets of a life I was a part of but really didn’t participate in now turned into a means to help me get something of my own.
    The phone call to Darcy out of the blue. Biting back my pride. Asking for help from my mother’s oldest friend, to whom I hadn’t spoken in forever.