Just for the Rush. Jane Lark

       Ivy

      November

      ‘Are you ready yet?’ Rick called from downstairs.

      ‘I’m just doing my makeup. I’ll be down in a minute.’

      I stared at myself in the bathroom mirror. Into my eyes. Trying to look inside myself. Why did I feel so miserable? It was my birthday. A birthday celebration should penetrate through the darkness and dispel at least some of the shadows.

      I lifted the mascara brush and swept it up along my eyelashes.

      When I finished with the mascara I put the brush back in the bottle and the bottle in my makeup bag, then took out the mauve lipgloss that matched my hair.

      My hand shook as I opened my mouth to apply it.

      The wobbliness in my stomach expressed itself with a desire to be sick. I didn’t want to do this. I wasn’t in the mood for a quiet, romantic dinner with Rick. It wasn’t the way I wanted to spend my birthday. I’d rather be in a club with Milly and some of my other girlfriends. I’d rather spend the night sharing large cocktails with a dozen straws, jumping up and down and dancing badly because I could barely stand up.

      But Rick would be upset if I told him I didn’t want to spend my birthday with him.

      I shoved the lipgloss into my makeup bag, then zipped it up and looked at myself in the mirror. My hands ran over the creases of my black dress, trying to straighten the clinging material. I pulled the hem down to the top of my knees. It would ride up again when I walked. But so what? I’d have my coat on and we’d spend the evening sitting down at a table.

      I breathed out, steeling myself for this. It really wasn’t a good thing that I had to force myself into going out with my boyfriend, but I was just down. I’d been down and trapped in this darkness for months, though.

      ‘Ready.’ As I walked downstairs, he smiled at me in the way that said you look gorgeous.

      My lips lifted in a quick, answering smile.

      ‘You look good,’ were the words he said aloud.

      ‘Thanks.’

      He had his coat on already, a bomber jacket. He was so broad and muscular that the fitted styles rarely fitted him.

      ‘Hey, cheer up it’s your birthday.’

      I looked down so I could slip my feet into my sparkly gold stiletto heels. His hand ran over my hair then settled on my shoulder for a moment.

      I glanced up and smiled at him. The thing about Rick was that he was so nice I could never say anything bad to him. I couldn’t tell him no, or shout at him, or argue with him. But inside I was screaming. His kindness was confining. I was trapped. How foolish was that? Other women would think their fairytale had come to life with a guy like Rick. It was selfish and mean to not be happy. I should be happy.

      I wasn’t.

      I was in a prison with glass walls – and comfy slippers, and soaps to watch on the TV and cardigans to snuggle up in.

      ‘What is so bad about that’? My mum would say on the rare occasions I dared to complain.

      Nothing. Nothing was wrong. So why did it feel like this life was strangling me.

      ‘Come on, then.’ He held my parka coat up for me to put my arms into the sleeves. He was such