Mary: An Awakening of Terror

by Nat Cassidy

I look up at the doctor. He’s checking his watch. He’s not trying to push me … but I’m being pushed all the same. “Unless you have any other questions?” “No questions,” I say through a pinhole, smiling my best Good Girl smile. “Thanks for your help!”

Bodies are just the worst, cruelest things. They make promises, and they lie.”

At the very least, they could talk me out of jamming my pen into Mr. Manspreader’s jugular next to me.

But the entire endless time, during the cavalcades of horror and heartbreak and justification and misery, I couldn’t unsee how repetitive it became. Mommy issues. Daddy issues. Abuse. Revenge. Horrifying though it was, the cycle was so commonplace. There was nothing to earn Damon’s preening sense of accomplishment. It ceased being interesting. It was only sad. For everyone. Especially the innocent women swept up in it.

The whole time, I kept thinking, Why are these moments supposedly more memorable than my own quiet life?