14. Save Me
SAVE ME
My breaths hitch louder, and choking gasps break out as I walk home. Snot drips down my trembling lips, and my tears spool down my cheeks. My eyes burn as if I have entered a furnace with my eyes wide open, letting the fire peel at the surrounding flesh.
I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home.
I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home.
I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home.
I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home.
I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home.
I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home.
I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home.
I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home.
I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home.
I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home.
I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home.
I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home. I don’t want to go home.
My legs weaken, and I land on my knees and sob into my hands while my body shakes uncontrollably. Salty tears drip onto the plastic bag.
Pull it together, Noya. Go home, place the bag on the table, and lock your fucking door. Don’t open it. Hide in the closet. Hide under the bed and stay there until the sun comes up. You can do this.
“I can’t,” I cry. “I don’t want to hurt anymore.”
“Noya?” My eyes widen, and I look to my left at Mrs Crawford standing on her porch. “Are you okay?”
Deep breaths. Pull yourself together and keep it in, okay?
I sniff, grab the bag, and rise. As she watches my pathetic attempt, I force a smile, only for my bottom lip to betray me. It trembles while the rest of my body musters the courage to head home.
“Mrs Crawford, I’m okay,” I lie.
Her eyes watch me like a hawk as I walk down the street and towards my home. Once I’m inside, I close and lock the door behind me.
Mum’s at the table, and I glare at her as I rest the bag on the table. She peeks inside, and her brown eyes widen. I wonder if she imagines what I’ve pictured the entire time I’ve walked home.
“He is going to kill me, isn’t he?” I whimper.
Mum doesn’t say a word. Instead, she slumps in her seat and buries her face in her hands, her shoulders quivering as she cries.
“Mum,” I say, my voice breaking. “Please say something. What should I do?”
She sniffs, and as she removes her hands from her face, she says, “Go to your room and lock your door.”
“He’s going to kill me.” I crouch beside the table, my hands gripping the wood tightly. “I got the wrong beer. It’s my fault.”
“I’m sorry,” she says, struggling to keep her tears at bay. “I’m sorry for everything.”
Sucking in my breath, I rise and glare deathly at her. “I hate you,” I seethe.
She lowers her focus, knowing that my words aren’t a bluff. They are a chant inside my head, on repeat as Dad beat me, and she did nothing to save me.
I enter my room and close the door without locking it. Instead, I reach into my schoolbag, take hold of the bills, and sit on my bed. I log into my internet banking, hoping the beatings won’t hurt if I pay some bills now.
I’ll even give Dad all of my money—my entire card if it prevents what I’m in for when he gets home.
I don’t want to be the trigger.
He’s always like this on Friday nights. They’re the worst nights of the week. Mum and I do everything we can to stay out of his way and give him everything he needs. She cooks him a nice homemade meal, and I set the beers on the table before I hide in my room and pray the storm doesn’t arrive.
But tonight, I know it will happen. It’s why I’m sitting here, desperately begging that paying the bills and placing them on the table will soften the blows I’m unprepared for.
After paying the bills, I drop my phone beside my feet, bow my head and rest it against my knees as I rock back and forth. I’m not sure how long I’ve held this position, but as I rise, the sound of Dad’s car comes into focus as it hits the gutter.
I stand, preparing for anything, when my phone vibrates. As I unlock it, an image appears on the screen with the caption “finished”.
There I am, in the oval, and with my head bowed as I draw the tree. All this time, he was behind me and was there for me. And if Dad beats me tonight, I won’t see him next week. I will be out of school, especially if he breaks a few bones.
I will need to make up an excuse, but knowing him, he—
“What the fuck is this?” Dad hollers.
Prickles of hair rise on end, and a shaky breath, raspy and raw, breaks through parted lips.
“We were out of s-stock,” Mum says.
“No,” Dad spits. “That fucking kid is playing games again!” He pauses before letting out an ear-splitting shout. “Noya!”
What do I do? Where do I go?
I scan from left to right until they settle on the window. In a split second, I race to it, hop onto my bed, grab the lock and flick it to the side. Without a care for my safety, I jump out and close the window before the door shudders and splintered wood sharpens against my ears.
I crouch low under the window with my hand pressed against my mouth.
“Where the fuck is she?”
Silence moves between them, so I can only assume Mum is also looking into my room and wondering the same thing.
“I told her she could sleep at a friend’s place tonight,” she says, which catches me off guard. My heart stutters at her lie. “She will be home later—”
I wince, feeling the slap more than hearing it.
“Who the fuck told you to do that?” Dad demands. “No one leaves this home. No one fucking leaves me!”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop,”—I hear thumping as Dad kicks her—“fucking saying you’re sorry. Words don’t mean shit when you don’t act on them!”
I shakily breathe out when Dad’s thumping footsteps leave the room. Working up the courage, I run down the street as fast as I can while clutching my phone.
I’m leaving.
I’m doing something I should have done a long time ago. For tonight, I’m saving myself. Dad won’t hurt me tonight. I will sleep in a park if I must. I’ll go anywhere away from that broken home.
But the guilt also gets to me. Dad will beat Mum bloody tonight, and she will take the beatings Dad wanted to inflict on me.
The thought of calling the police crosses my mind, but Dad will find out first, and the same thing will happen.
Mrs Jones tried to help me all those years ago. She filled out a report for the police, only for the information to land on his desk. There’s no escape unless we run. Keep running and never look back.
And if Mum doesn’t want to do it, I will.
I will save myself.
My breaths come out shorter as I sit at the bus stop and regain my breath. Leaning against the wall, I raise my phone and stare at the photo on my screen.
Me: I love it
I lean against the side of the bus stop. The bus doesn’t come at this hour, so I will stay here for the night and go home sometime when the sun comes up.
A few seconds later, the phone vibrates. Conner’s name appears on the screen.
Conner: Maybe I can show you at school on Monday?
Me: Yes, please.
A car drives past. My heart swells in my throat for a moment, thinking it’s Dad trying to find me. Yet, I doubt he will leave home again. He is too intoxicated. He will wait until I return.
I hope he calms down enough for me to survive whatever the hell he has in store for me by the time I enter my house.
The phone vibrates again.
Conner: What are you doing up so late?
Me: Can’t sleep. You?
I’m not lying. But I am withholding some truth from him because I can’t sleep, and I don’t think I can sleep tonight. I’ll stay here for the night, sitting at the bus stop until the bus comes. Then I’ll walk home, face the music, and maybe… maybe check on Mum.
My phone vibrates in my hand. A slight smile plays along my lips before I slide the phone up, revealing the text message.
Conner: Thinking of a girl I got to know two days ago.
Me: Yeah?
Conner: Yeah. She’s kind of shy and doesn’t talk much unless she asks about someone else. Never herself. But if you persist, you get to know how amazing, kind, and funny she can be.
My phone keeps vibrating as the floodgates of messages come through.
Conner (two seconds later): It’s rare to see her smile, but it reminds me of an orange sunset when she does. It’s warm, soft, and inviting.
Conner (again): She covers her mouth with her hand when talking with her mouth full or laughing.
Conner: She played D&D and liked it. I think she’s worth it.
When I am about to reply to the first message, my phone vibrates again.
Conner: That girl is you.
I smile.
Me: I know, Conner.
He replies with a goodnight after that, and my smile fades when I realise I am alone again. It shouldn’t bother me. I have been alone my entire life. But I imagine reaching for the sun, grasping it from time to time, and nearly having it within my control when the rain pours.
The sun fades, sizzling out, leaving nothing but a black ball hovering in the palm of my hand. That is what I imagine it’s like talking to Conner, and when Conner goes, I’m alone again, saving myself.