Little, broken, plastic pieces.

At quarter-to-one in the morning, Maeselle showed up standing outside of Louise Cleming’s apartment complex. In a few minutes’ time, the two best friends were sitting side by side, wrapped in blankets, watching a very irritated and perfectly toned man gathering his keys, shoes, pants, jacket, and other various belongings. 1

As soon as he stomped out and slammed the door shut behind him, Eloise (still in her satin-and-lace nightie,) worriedly asked her surprisingly calm best friend, “Oh darling Mae, is it Jack again?” Mae nodded, and then gently pulled her hands away from Eloise as she stood up. She walked gingerly over to the hall mirror. “Frankly El, I don’t give a damn about him, it’s just, my baby Sylvia. I wish she didn’t have to go through all this!” Mae took out her makeup case, “She’s with my mother right now… I took a cab here.” She paused to dab some pale concealer under her eyes. “I hope I haven’t messed up things for you and whosis, but, you’ll get another soon enough.” Eloise laughed and said, “Oh no, actually Mae, you wouldn’t believe it but, just before you rang my room, he was asking me to say his name!” Mae started back to the couch with a questioning look “and?”2

“Well,” Eloise continued, “I couldn’t remember it!” “You and your boys!” The two of them giggled and Eloise, suddenly remembering something, hopped up from the couch.3

“Let’s drink!” she said, pouring two large glasses full of scotch. “Let’s drink… a lot.” She handed Mae a glass with a wistful, far-off expression. Mae received it graciously and, after taking a sip, asked “Why so downcast? Trust me; you do not wanna fall in love. Or, at least, don’t get married. You’re too pretty to walk into hell.” “And you aren’t?” “Well,” Mae explained, “I deserve it. I didn’t heed my mother’s warning.” The two of them sipped their drinks, both deep in thought. Eloise, finally noticing Mae’s dress, exclaimed, “Wow! You look fabulous… you know, you really do look pretty in red. Remember ‘Maeselle’, your first date with ‘Jackson’?” she teased, “You wore red then too.” “Do I remember? Of course I remember!… although,” Mae broke off to take another sip, “I’d really rather not.” It was meant to be a simple compliment, but Mae seemed to ponder it for a long while.4

After a thick silence, Mae brought up something from their freshman year at college. The two of them laughed heartily and talked for hours into the night. They reminisced about their high school days, and when “what’s-her-name came to the dance in a white dress and left wearing an orangey-red fruit punch one, because she tried to dance with your boyfriend”. 5

After about a half hour of silence, Mae looked up at her best friend’s silhouette sprawled out face down on the couch. She raised her skinny body up from the floor with difficulty and sat, hugging her knees close to her small chest. She looked over at Eloise’s French manicured fingernails, and compared them to her own. Hers were polish-free, and circular-- chewed down way too far. She raised her glass to her mouth and tilted it completely vertical. Even the melted ice cubes were gone. She looked greedily around the room for Eloise’s glass, knowing it probably still had a bit in it. Spotting it on a table not too far away, Mae crawled over to it and reached up, losing and regaining her balance twice. She finished the drink and stood up. She half-walked, half-stumbled her way to the bathroom. After staring at her reflection for a while, she opened and retrieved something from the medicine cabinet.6

Eloise woke up with a yawn and a stretch. “You know, I haven’t laughed like that in ages!” She rubbed her eyes as she sat up. When she completely opened them, she realized Mae wasn’t on the floor where she had last seen her lying. She walked over to the bedroom and peeked in. Then she made her way to the bathroom, yawning again, and inspecting her nails. “I need to repaint them again” she said to herself as she knocked on the door. “Mae…Maeselle, doll, did you have too much to drink last night?” She asked with a laugh. “Are you sick, dear?” When there was no answer, she opened the door. She didn’t see any signs of Mae at first, but then spotted little plastic broken pieces from a razor in the sink. The blades seemed the only part to be missing. Panic crawled through her veins as she looked desperately around the bathroom. She then noticed a small drip-trail of blood drops leading to her shower-bath. She pulled back the curtain to her no-longer-bleeding friend lying in a pool of the prettiest red.7