The Prompt - Blue

Blue. The colour of his eyes. Like twin chips of ice yet alive and full of passion. When fully open they give him the look of a little boy; vulnerable, helpless, in need of looking after. When half closed they are seductive; passionate, full of lust, real 'come to bed' eyes. They were the first thing she noticed about him.

Blue. The colour of the car he picked her up in when they went to dinner at a fancy French restaurant. The night he proposed and she cried and said 'Yes!' in a squeaky voice. The night that all her dreams came true, when her Prince Charming asked for her hand in marriage.

Blue. The colour of the flowers in her bouquet as she walked down the aisle towards the man of her dreams. She could hardly stop smiling, her happiness was now complete. She'd brushed aside the doubts of her friends who said there was something odd about him; they were jealous of the way he treated her as if she were a porcelain figurine, wrapping her up in the warm embrace of his love. They'd soon see, he was the man for her and they were going to be blissfully happy for ever and ever.

Blue. The colour of the kaftan he bought for her on their honeymoon, preferring her to cover up. He said that her beauty was only for him and he hated seeing the lust in other men's eyes when she walked on the beach. So she pulled the blue kaftan over her head and strolled across the sand hand in hand with her new husband.

Blue. The colour of the little line on the pregnancy test which told them that they were to become a family. She saw him cry for the first time, tears of joy as he swung her round and called her his perfect darling wife.

Blue. The colour he sadly painted over in the nursery when their beautiful daughter was born. 'Next time, a son, and soon' he'd declared after the birth.

Blue. Her mood as month after month passed with no new pregnancy.
Blue. His mood as she failed to get pregnant time after time.

Blue. The colour of the circles beneath her eyes as she sat up night after night crying when she suffered a third miscarriage, again of the longed for little boy. The Little Boy Blue that would not be coming to live in their home.

Blue. The colour of the dress worn by the woman who walked past their house every day for a week. Tall, slim, blonde. A woman she didn't know, she'd never met, who kept looking at her house.

Blue. The colour of the stain dripping down the wall after he threw dessert at it. She asked who the woman in blue was. He denied knowing her. She pressed him. He lost his temper. The blueberry cheesecake hit the wall and he stormed out.

Blue. The colour of the nightdress she was wearing when he returned home, drunk. The nightdress that he tore from her body, pushing her against the pillows and screaming in her face. Screaming that she was a failure as a wife, a mother, a woman. No wonder he looked at other women.

Blue. The colour of the sunglasses she wore to cover her shame the next morning. A colour that she would notice on her body more and more. 

Blue. The colour of the bruises on her arms, her torso, her face.
Blue. The colour of the uniform of the doctor who stitched up the cut above her eye.

Blue. The way she felt as she walked into the station to report him at last, after three years of beatings.