20. New Beginnings
NEW BEGINNINGS
“Hey,” Andy breathes. “I’ve been trying to reach you all day. Where have you been?”
“Out with Conner,” I answer.
“Oh…” There’s a hint of bitterness before Andy clears his throat. “Uh, I was calling to apologise for my behaviour.”
“Okay…”
“I was a, uh…dick. I shouldn’t have punched Conner. It’s just that he’s so cocky, and he gets under my skin with how he thinks he’s better than everyone around him. The Ace.”
You’re wrong, I think, but I keep my mouth shut. Arguing is pointless.
“Anyway, what you said hit hard. I’m sorry, Noya. Do you forgive me?”
“Sure—as long as you don’t do it again, or get upset when I hang out with Conner.”
“I promise. Scouts honour!”
I smile slightly.
“What are you doing?” he says.
“Lying in bed,” I answer. “You?”
“Ah…I need to finish the rest of my assignment tonight to hand it in on Wednesday. My parents are super strict with my grades now, and it’s pissing me off.” Andy groans irritably. “Why can’t they get off my back for once? I can’t wait to fucking leave this place.”
My grip on the phone tightens, and I glare at the still fan on the ceiling. Part of me wants to tell me he shouldn’t be so hard on his parents. It means they care for him, and he should be grateful he has parents who want him to be something more in life.
But before I can say anything, he breathes a dramatic sigh and tells me he will see me at school tomorrow. Once he hangs up, I rest my phone against my stomach and gaze at the ceiling before a light tap comes to my door and causes me to jolt.
Mum leans against it with a strained smile. I’m not used to not having a door. It freaks me out that Dad could enter whenever he pleases, and there is no door between us.
The one safe space in this house is gone because there’s no door.
“There’s pasta in the pot if you’re hungry.”
I roll over and face away from her as I clutch my phone. “I’ve already eaten.”
“Oh…Sorry to bother you.”
Closing my eyes, I suppress the unwarranted sadness.
She wasn’t bothering me by talking to me. And if she hadn’t said what she said earlier, I’d have replayed this conversation in my mind, believing we were making progress and communicating.
I’d have taken her up on the offer of a pasta, even knowing my stomach is still sore from all the food I ate. I would have leapt at the chance to talk to Mum more.
But how can I do that now with knowing she only does it out of guilt rather than affection? How can I look at her without feeling like my insides are about to split?
How?
I can’t.
The next morning, I woke to multiple messages.
Samantha: Did you and Andy sort everything out?
Me: Yes. We talked on the phone last night.
Andy: Morning. See you at school.
Me (replying): See you there.
And the last message is from Conner. A smile spreads on my face.
Conner: Good morning, my Guinevere. How was your sleep?
Me (replying to Conner): My sleep was okay. Yours, Noble Knight?
Conner (thirty seconds later): So, you’re warming up to the name????
Me (Immediate response): No.
While I brush my teeth, he responds with a crying emoji. I then reply with one that’s grinning. It’s strange to respond to text messages from someone I will see in an hour. But it’s an addiction.
I can’t stop replying to him.
Another text comes through just as I think he will stop.
When I leave the bathroom, I notice Mum’s dressed in her thickest robe. Pasta sauce stains ring around the sleeve.
She notices me and quickly looks away. Mum wipes down the counter with a cloth while I enter the fridge to grab my water bottle. As I place it in my bag, I notice the swelling bruises on the back of her hand and wrists.
“Do they hurt?” I say while I pack my lunch. It’s by money, after all. I shouldn’t feel guilty about taking snacks from home out of fear of Dad’s reaction.
“You don’t have to worry about me, Noya,” Mum murmurs. “I’ll manage.”
“Would you come with me or stay if I ran away?”
Silence fills the room to the point where I think she’s not standing beside me. There’s a void.
“You know we can’t do that. Remember what happened last time?”
I rub my arm, remembering the time Dad found us at the train station. He twisted my arm, and I felt the bones crunch under the pressure—but we could have fled. I know in my heart that if Dad didn’t call out to Mum, we would have stepped onto the train carriage and said goodbye to this life.
Instead, Mum turned away from the carriage while I stared longingly at the train moving away from the platform until I was looking at the other side. My feet moved, my mind was numb, and I loved that I felt nothing—that was until Dad’s grip tightened on my arm before I could jump on the tracks.
Signing, I swing the bag over my shoulder and head to the door. “I’ll be home late again.”
“Why?” she asks, her voice wary, but I know it’s not for my well-being, only hers.
I touch the doorframe, my fingertips trembling with anger. “Mum, don’t act as if you care. We both know you want me around so that Dad can hurt me more than you.” I face her and see the glisten of unshed tears in her eyes. “I told you that night that I didn’t want to hurt anymore.”
“Noya,” she calls, her bottom lip trembling, and when she does open her mouth, she chokes on her words. “I…”
I wait, hoping for an answer on why we are still here. Hoping to understand Mum more about why she would want Dad to harm me. I want her to explain why we haven’t run away again.
What hold does Dad have on her that scares her more than freedom? Because right now, I’ll take a bullet if that means I’m an inch closer to saving myself.
She lowers her hand and wipes down the spilled beer that’s on the dining room table. Then, all hope I have goes when I close the door behind me.
I need to focus on myself and what makes me happy.
So, I clutch my phone and think of the memories inside the messages.