from dusk till dawn
Ruth glided through the crowd like a thief in the night, melded flawlessly into the environment of glittering diamonds and sheer silk. The click of her heels on the polished wooden floor made hardly a sound amidst the chiming of tiny silver hors d'oeuvre forks against glowing white porcelain tea plates and the steady circling flutter of violin strings that hovered over the low chatter of guests. She lifted her hand and, without pausing to stop and search, effortlessly plucked a flute of champagne from a silver tray as it slipped past. The air was sweet with the aromas of ripe summer fruits and fresh cut flowers, intoxicating in the thick summer humidity. Ruth continued to flit between slick dark suits and light-colored shimmering gowns, unheard and unseen, while the guests bantered in cheerful vapid conversation.
As she settled against the back wall, tucked between two tall paintings she had donated to the charity for auction, Ruth sipped pensively at the delicate flute of champagne perched between her fingers. Her eyes slid over the pulsing mass of people with pointed disappointment. It was the first year in many that Ruth didn’t have a date to the charity ball. Faye didn’t want her, Imogen had some competition going with Jude, Marco had snatched up lovely Cleo, even Ava… Well, she got the feeling Ava wasn’t ready for that sort of thing yet. Alone. The last few months she had tried so hard to let go of the needless grasping for love and attention, the endless search that only perpetuated her misery, but it had only made her feel so utterly alone. If it weren’t for the warm, inviting glow of the crystal ball that rested at her bedside, she would have given up her new attitude of dis-attachment long before it ever settled in. Instead, she drew her strength from the enlightened crystal, taking solace in its constant friendly energy that lit up the darkest of nights.
On the opposite end of the room, Eduardo and Elizabeth had framed the raised corner stage with thick frilly curtains, the dour colour of a deep red rose, like some prolific opera house stage. Ruth sniffed a short incredulous huff. They could have spent half as much on curtains if they really cared at all about this mental health charity. It was an odd choice for the Marinos, to be quite honest. Her mother and father usually went for more loud charity themes for their yearly ball. Themes like hunger and poverty always brought the big spenders. They avoided anything too political, such as resources for refugees or the more controversial environmental protections. This was, in truth, a political act, after all. It always had been. So what had inspired the unusual choice to talk about “invisible illness”? Where was the money in that?
“Always follow the money, Ruthie.” Elizabeth had told Ruth over and over again. “Money can’t lie to you.”
Ruth’s mother was an old world goddess in new paint, a flame reflected in the cut surface of a diamond, a rare and dangerous creature. She had stalked the fluorescent jungle of hallways at HM Treasury long before her girlhood had blossomed into womanhood. Even at events such as this, when Elizabeth hung on Eduardo’s arm and proudly gloated to the guests about Marco’s latest success, every man in the room wanted her. They dreamed of her, and they feared her. Elizabeth Marino-Hart could make or break any man in the world on a simple whim. So when she stepped out onto the stage, a hush fell over the party guests before she had even turned on the microphone at the podium. She moved with slow, roiling confidence, like a panther in the brush. Delicate grace and smooth, silky power shifted beneath her skin. With a radiant smile that could topple empires, she tucked a thick curl of dark hair back behind her ear. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, friends and colleagues. I am… immensely honored that so many of you have accepted our invitation once again and come to help us on our little mission to make the world a better place.”
As sweet as her mother’s endearing rosy blush was, and her carefully chosen introductory words, Ruth couldn’t help but sigh. It was almost word for word the same speech she’d given the year Ruth and Marco had moved away for uni. Elizabeth glanced back at her husband, standing like a stone monolith at the edge of the stage. “Thank you all for coming. Please, enjoy the array of hors d'oeuvres and our expertly tended bar. You may want to get in there sooner than later as some particularly hungry individuals have been cleaning out the strawberries and goat cheese with fig vinegar parfaits with unprecedented speed.”
On the edge of her vision, Ruth spotted Jude freeze up, loaded spoon poised in his mouth. Shamefully, he chewed, swallowed, and set his parfait on the nearest table like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. A rude snort of laughter escaped Ruth’s nose as she tried to stifle her smile behind her hand.
Her mother continued, “But this is not a night for being greedy. As we do every year, we’ve gathered to open our hearts and give freely to those in need. The… heartbreaking pieces of art you see around the room tonight were all donated by an incredible artist for the charity auction this evening. She is giving one hundred percent of the proceeds to benefit our selected mental health organizations, out of the kindness of her heart. Thank you, Ruthie, we’re very proud.” With a soundless, dainty pat of her hands together, Elizabeth encouraged a round of applause from the room. Ruth had heard this speech a dozen times. She told herself it didn’t really mean anything. Every year, they took her art and she was repaid with pride. She didn’t mind, she wanted to support a cause and it was the best way she could. All she wished was that their pride could last a little longer than one night.
“It’s time to introduce our speakers for this year on the theme of mental illness, a tragedy that affects people across the globe from all walks of life. As you all may know, my husband Eduardo will start off our discussions, as he does every year, with his annual statement. I’d like you all to please welcome Eduardo Marino-Hart to the stage.” Elizabeth backed away from the podium. The room rippled with applause, more enthusiastic than the polite applause that had been offered Ruth. Leaning back against the wall, Ruth lifted the champagne to her lips and sucked down a deep gulp. Her father’s speeches were always quite dry and clinical. Facts lined up like ducks at a shooting range. Words like bullets that tore so rapid through the hall that you couldn’t exactly follow where they had come from, yet they still managed to wrap around the brain and subdue the tongue’s ability to fight. Ruth swallowed a stiff lump in her throat as Eduardo lumbered onto the stage. He loomed over the little podium, his broad shoulders casting a mountain-sized shadow. He did not fidget with the chunky rings on his fingers, nor straighten his ornate blue and black silk brocaded tie. He did not even force a smile. Even from across the room, he was just as enormous and foreboding as Ruth remembered him being. A man with fists like solid bricks and a jaw hewn from hard stone. He adjusted the comically small glasses that perched on the bridge of his regal Roman nose and cleared his throat in a deep growl.
“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen.” He didn’t need the tiny microphone on the podium. When he stood up straight, the podium hardly reached up to his trim waistline. Though his tone was gentle, the booming resonance of his voice rang out easily over the heads of the guests and aloft into the high-vaulted ceiling. He simply had that kind of voice, the kind that commanded attention and drew you in. “Thank you all for coming. Tonight’s charity is a subject very near and dear to my heart. I have been the president of the Marino Aerospace Corporation for over two decades. Our satellites are beaming information to your cell phones every second of every day. Our latest drone jets are circling the planet to protect us while we sleep. I had come to think of myself as invincible. A man who could resolve any problem with ingenuity. I was wrong.”
Ruth’s gaze sharpened with suspicion. This couldn’t be what it sounded like. Her father couldn’t be admitting to a mental illness. It would ruin his career. His company stocks would crash. He’d lose his place on his own governing board. So, why did he sound so uncharacteristically vulnerable?
A nagging tension in her stomach warned her something was terribly wrong.
“This year has been a very challenging one for my family. Pain comes in many forms, and often it keeps itself hidden where you least expect to find it. Throughout their young lives, I had reinforced the values of strength, persistence, and honesty in my children. I am proud of the brilliant and dedicated people they have become, and hope that one day they will leave their impression on the world as I have. Nobody would have expected illness to creep in and deal us the blow that it did this year.”
No, no, no, oh god no, don’t do it. Eduardo, don’t do it. Please. Please stop. I’m not crazy. Don’t tell everyone I’m crazy. Please, please stop-
“Last November, my daughter Ruth attempted to take her own life.”
The welling tension in her stomach dropped into a bottomless pit, like she was on one of those free-fall rides at the fair. Dozens of curious eyes turned in her direction. Ruth could feel the color draining from her face.
“I hope none of you are ever in that position we were in, your child in a hospital bed, hooked up to machines and IV drips, wondering where you went wrong…”
The crystal glass dropped from her shock-loosened fingers. She didn’t even hear it crash, or feel the champagne soaking into the skirt of her dress. All she could hear were the whispers and gasps of sympathy scattering around the room. What a horrible experience that must have been. How unfortunate! Ruth clenched her fists tight and set her jaw. Her skin prickled as she imagined the heat of so many eyes inspecting her, judging her. Poor girl. So sensitive. So fragile.
They don’t know, she told herself. Her fists shook, her muscles coiled all the way up her arms. None of them know what happened. They have no idea.
It didn’t matter. She couldn’t tell them. Then they would lock her up in a hospital for certain.
Calm down. Count to ten… Months of mandatory meditation classes had to be worth something.
“It has been a difficult trial, for all of us. Every day we worry for our daughter’s health, knowing that we cannot understand the darkness that pushed her to such drastic lengths. But there is hope…”
“Shut up! Just shut up!” The words burst from her chest in an unexpected fury before she had even reached the number ten. The screaming inside her could no longer be stifled by carefully forged walls to trap her emotions. It was too loud, too furious. A wordless hurt thundered behind her rib cage. Betrayal—ruthless, cold and razor-sharp—cut through her hardened skin as if it were merely paper.
Her heels crunched on broken glass as she marched toward the emotionless monster she called father. She opened her mouth for the anger to spill from her like tongues of flame, but small hands grasped tight at her arms, tugging her away from the stage and the bright unfeeling spotlights.
@imogenxsong
