Chapter 1 #2
My lack of expression is no reflection of the storm brewing inside me. Agony lingers behind the blockade in my mind … swirling, taunting, waiting for its chance to strike at the most inopportune time.
I’m a failure—a damn failure—when my dad needs me the most. Even at this moment, something is wrong with me, broken and crooked.
Honestly, at this point, I’m not entirely sure if the voice in my head sounds more like her or me. All I know is that the second I can escape this cage, I’m gone. For good.
That’s what I’ve been told repeatedly this past year by my stepmother, who’s now staring at me with nothing but repulsion in her gaze.
I’d like to think that a silver lining in this tragedy is that my mom and dad may finally be reunited. I’ve always believed them to be true soulmates.
As hard as my stepmother tried to force my father this past year, I know he’s never loved her as much as he did my mother.
My stepmother and he look the part well enough, playing the roles of doting husband and wife.
But in the end, she will never compare to my mother, not in his mind, nor in mine. I think he was perhaps lonely and didn’t want to leave me the same when his time came.
My father coughs, wrenching me from my thoughts and thrusting me back into the real nightmare before me.
“Ciri.” His voice is gravelly and dry, crackling through the small space between us.
I squeeze his hand harder, my chest unbearably tight. I bring our intertwined fingers to my lips and gently kiss the back of his hand, stroking the faint mark with my thumb. “I’m right here.”
“It’ll all be okay. You will be okay,” he promises, staring straight ahead.
His words echo in my mind.
He’s not refusing to address the elephant in the room. He’s facing it head-on—an even more horrifying truth.
I know it won’t make it any easier to deny the inevitable, but somehow, this seems more painful—to not hide from it.
“Don’t say that. Just focus on you,” I encourage him, the pit in my chest and stomach growing larger than his entire bedroom.
I can see him muster up his strength, the slight wrinkles between his brows creasing as he turns his head on his pillow to face me.
“She’ll take care of you. She pinkie promised me.” He smirks, trying to assure me it’s the truest promise.
My confession slips past my lips without thought, my soul cracking open. “But I want you to take care of me.”
I don’t have to say that for him to know it. And the last thing I want to do is make him feel any ounce of guilt at this moment.
“I love you, Cirell … a.” He fights the last letter of my name past his lips, barely audible and breathy with exhaustion.
I want to be selfish. I want to say a thousand things. I want to tell him to stay, to keep fighting, to never leave my side. That she’s evil and a horrible person.
But I also don’t want him to be in pain anymore, to rely on machines and morphine to keep him comfortable. I don’t want to ruin his last moments with fear and concern.
So, I keep all of those thoughts to myself as I squeeze my eyes shut.
A sob bubbles up my throat, breaking the silence in the room as I cling tighter to the fading image of my loving father, indescribable pain lancing through my chest.
My voice cracks. “I love you too.”
Four words that I wonder if I’ll ever say again.
Certainly not to my stepmother, who clearly wishes it were me in this bed.
It’s unlikely I’ll ever let anyone in deep enough to trust or earn those words.
Most importantly, not to my father … because when my eyes open, I find his closed, his breath frozen in his lungs, mid-exhale.
Mine matches his, halting in my throat, and the lack of oxygen in my lungs gradually suffocates me.
The numbness returns, wrapping every inch of my body and mind in armor, impenetrable and strong.
But that feeling doesn’t last long, as the silence is broken by the one person who shouldn’t be here.
“He was right, you know?” My stepmother’s agitating voice fills my ears. “I will take care of you. I’ll uphold my promise.”
I ignore her, not bothering to show her any level of respect as I pull his hand tightly into my chest, clinging to it, willing and wishing as hard as I possibly can for him to come back.
“Show some respect, Cirella. You aren’t a child anymore,” she snarks. “You’re twelve years old. Start acting like it.”
“I hate you,” I whisper, the confession meaner and louder than I intended.
“I know, sweetie. And that’s okay because I love you enough for the both of us.
” She pauses, and I can practically hear a smile in her next words.
“Well, I suppose I don’t have to fake that part of our relationship anymore, do I?
You and I both know where we really stand.
” Sliding her long, bony fingers along the tops of my shoulders, she squeezes tightly, painfully sharp.
“I will take care of you, Cirella, just like he said. And I’ll take care of this house …
and the cars … and every dollar your cheap father saved. ”
Apparently, she is right.
At the will reading the following week, her taunt becomes an unbearable reality—one I don’t think I’ll survive, one I’m not sure I want to.
Over the next six years, I find myself sinking deeper and deeper in the depths of my mind, only content when the world around me seems to fade away.
She continues to leave bruises and scars on my body and soul, until I start to believe the words she spews to be true.
The little girl who once said goodbye to her doting dad is gone. She hasn’t existed for a very long time. In fact, I’m not entirely sure there’s anyone left at all.
I’ve become certain over the years that wishes don’t come true, that fairy tales are make-believe, and that all the fairy godmothers are dead.