Behind Rose-Tinted Glasses

Susan loved reds, and it showed. Splattered all over her, on her clothes, her articles, her person. And just like every other thing she loved, she became it, and it became her, blending into her existence, becoming one with her. All of this I noticed, just as I’d noticed it the first time she took a step away from her father. Imperceptible but there, inching away slightly, almost too repulsed to have him within view, too repulsed to be within the same room as him. Following that, was the sudden disappearance of the crucifixes which filled her room, they’d been gifted her by her father, a religion obsessed man, and she’d never hated it, not until that day. I took note of it all, the loss of the light and whites which she’d carried all through her life. Soon, her whites had been shed and in its place, reds dominated, and with it all, innocence was lost.

She’d abandoned it all but she’d kept me close, we’d even roomed at some point, and we stuck close. So I saw that which had been beyond my view before, the buzz, the attraction to what I couldn’t see, and the swarms of the unknown which followed her everywhere. All similar, fair skinned, and draped in colors which caused a headache. She spoke like them, laughing at what she’d never have laughed at ages ago, dressed as they were, acting as they did. And for each night she slipped off, intoxicated by the stories they told, eager to experience the new, she lost a part of her, and I could feel it. She was on the edge, and each day her reds got darker, and her smile a bit more drunken. She’d done what she was not supposed to do, she’d finally given the wind leave to sweep her in whatever direction it went, and all I could do was watch.