55. Monday
MONDAY
The sound of Dad’s alarm causes me to stiffen. Staring up at the still, lifeless fan, I grimace. The door to Dad’s room opens, and he grumbles with irritation. Then I hear the shower turn on.
Exhaling a breath, I sit up, remove the blankets, and rub my sleepless eyes. Usually, when I wake, Dad has already left for work. Did he get a week off or something so he could monitor me? This is out of character, and now my routine with Conner has shattered.
I’m left with the monster with those jarring, jagged teeth—his entire entity watching over me and everything I’m doing. I’m not only a bird locked in her cage, but a chain is bound to my neck, and my clipped wings prevent me from flying.
Mum is in the kitchen preparing toast. I look between her and the bathroom. Dad is in the bedroom. I head to the kitchen and stand beside Mum. This might be my only chance to talk to her while Dad’s in the room.
“Mum, what’s going on?” I ask.
She butters the toast, a smile on her face, yet her eyes are glassy and bloodshot.
“Mum,” I say in a hushed voice. “Why is Dad taking me to school and work?”
“Noya,” Mum snaps, making me flinch. “You should be happy your dad wants to spend more time with you. You should be grateful he hasn’t gone out drinking for the past few days and wants us to be a family.”
“But…”
Mum turns to me, her smile strained and her eyes furious. “What do you want on your toast?”
The door to their bedroom opens, and Dad comes out, looking between us. Mum grabs the toast she made, cuts it into rectangles, and places them with a glass of orange juice on the table. Dad grumbles a response I can’t quite catch. The TV turns on, and Dad watches the news.
“Noya?” Mum questions. “What do you want on your toast?”
“Oh… I’m not hungry,” I grumble.
“Eat,” Dad snaps.
I flinch, instinctively biting the inside of my cheek while glaring at the tiles. “Butter,” I answer Mum.
I sit at the table, the furthest away from Dad, and keep my focus down on my hand. I glare at the Band-Aid. The daily reminder that what I’ve been through is tangible, and this facade won’t last.
“Where I drop you, Noya, is where I will pick you up after school,” Dad declares after finishing his toast.
“Okay,” I breathe.
After breakfast, I brush my teeth while Dad waits by the door.
A chill runs up my spine when he opens the door, beckoning me to leave first. I feel him glaringly watching me as I leave home.
I imagine a leash bound to my neck, and if I venture too far, the collar will tighten, cutting off circulation until I stop and wait for Dad to move forward.
I reach for the back door when Dad clears his throat. “What are you doing? Sit at the front,” he instructs.
Without a word, I slide in beside him. I flinch when I hear the door locks click, preventing me from an easier escape. I bite my lip, peeling the skin from the flesh.
Dad reverses out, and as we drive down the street, I smile weakly at Mrs Crawford watering her garden. Her watchful eyes follow us as we pass.
“Pesky old fucking woman,” Dad grunts.
Our radio and car air conditioner still do not work, so we only hear rumbling as we hit potholes on the road.
I want to wind down the window, but the handle is missing.
There’s no escaping this car or the heat, and the dense smell of the car becomes a little unbearable.
It smells of stale beer and has a foul odour.
Dad parks out in front of the school. I notice Sammy first. She waits by the bus stop. I go to open my door and leave quickly, but it won’t budge. My entire body stiffens, and I turn to Dad. He is glaring at me.
“Um… the door won’t open,” I murmur.
His eyes burrow into me, and I’m too frightened to look away. To feel something, I bite the inside of my lip while I wait. Yet, he keeps staring.
“Dad…”
Tearing his sights away from me, he pushes down on the button, and the door unlocks. Gripping my bag, I step out and close the door. I expect him to leave, but he stays there watching me. Feeling uneasy, I quicken my pace inside the school grounds. Once I’m in, Dad drives down the street.
I exhale the breath I had held the entire time.
“Noya!” Sammy calls as she runs towards me with Dylan hot on her trail. “Did your dad drive you to school?”
“Yeah…”
Her eyes widen a fraction as she says, “That’s a first.”
I nod in agreement.
As we walk, I scan the school grounds. My gaze flickers to the car park.
Conner’s car is there, but he doesn’t seem anywhere near it.
Sammy then links her arm with mine, and we head up the Block F stairs towards the room where we play Dungeons and Dragons.
Dylan opens the door, and my jaw drops at Conner at the table, a worried look on his face.
“What’s this about?” I ask.
“I told them your dad was dropping you off,” Conner answers, standing.
“I was instantly worried because your dad never dropped you off at school,” Sammy pipes in. “Then I thought maybe he was going to do some spy cop shit and survey the perimeter.”
“And so, I suggested hanging out here before school and at lunch and recess,” Dylan finishes with a proud look. “My drama teacher said it was cool when I saw her this morning. We just need to clean up after ourselves.”
“You… you all did this for me?” I ask.
Conner sighs as he wraps his arms around my waist. “You underestimate how much your friends care about you.”
I turn towards Dylan and Sammy and smile. “Thank you so, so much.”
Sammy blushes. Looking away from me, she brushes my words aside and mumbles, “It’s nothing.”
The bell rings, and I head with Sammy towards our class while Conner and Dylan go the opposite way.
Andy comes down the stairs of Block B as we move up.
He glances at me and then away. Sammy makes a face at him when he walks down the stairs.
I grip her arm further, hissing at her to stop.
She brushes my words off lightly and giggles.
I can’t concentrate on English. My mind reels to the weekend and how uncharacteristic it was of a weekend.
Mum and I have trained to prepare everything perfectly and hide in our rooms, waiting for the hurricane to hit.
I’d get Dad his favourite beer, and Mum would prepare Dad’s favourite meal.
We’d clean the house and put the TV on the right channel to lure Dad into his seat. If it worked, he wouldn’t hurt us.
But this weekend, he creeped me out more.
I wasn’t sure what to do in that situation.
I stood, baffled, as Dad and Mum spoke to each other civilly for the first time in years.
At first, I thought Dad knocked me out so hard that I warped into this parallel universe to keep my mental state happy.
When I realised that wasn’t the case, I became on edge.
This isn’t normal, and there must be a reason behind their acting as if nothing happened. Dad never beat me, ripped my fingernails off, or kicked me until I felt like my organs were about to spill.
Dad never raped my mum almost every night when he was drunk.
He never beat her until she was black and blue.
He never slashed her leg open until crimson splashed across the tiles.
I never sat there for hours, scrubbing the floors and walls of all kinds of substances.
My belongings were never trashed or searched.
I’ve never starved, barely eating because Dad spent all our money on beer.
In this world that they are forcing onto me, none of it happened. It’s making me feel like I am crazy. It was as if I had maladaptive daydreamed about everything terrible in my life.
“Noya”—I flinch when Sammy touches my arm—“class is over.”
I blink back to reality and realise my classmates are packing up their belongings and moving to their next subject. I then stare at the blank page in front of me and grimace because I didn’t do any work in English.
This is what I didn’t want to happen. I didn’t want my home life to get so bad that I couldn’t focus on schoolwork. I need to push these thoughts aside in class and at least wait until recess and lunch to reevaluate what I witnessed this weekend.
The next class drags on. Perhaps it’s because my thoughts keep pushing what happened this weekend into my mind.
I did my work, but my mind was elsewhere and growing intolerable.
My inner thoughts haven’t been this bad in years.
I can usually separate them or realise my mind is drifting, directing me to focus on schoolwork.
I’m not in the right headspace today, that’s for sure.
When Sammy and I arrive, Conner is already in the drama room. I sit beside him and thank him when he hands me a packaged cheese, chicken, and mayo sandwich. From his set look and fierce, firm hazel eyes, I know he has something to ask me. I try not to hold his gaze for long and eat in silence.
“Am I taking you to work this afternoon?” Conner asks.
I stop chewing. The food turns to mush in my mouth. After I swallow, I answer, “No. Dad said he’s taking me to school and work for the rest of the week.”
“Huh…” Conner grunts. “Interesting.”
Dylan burst into the room, his eyes wild and face pale. Sammy stands with a concerned look on her face when he approaches her. “Your dad drives a white Volkswagen with a grey hood?”
“Uh… yes,” I agree. “Why?”
“I went around to see if Andy and Wylan were behind the buildings where we hang out. I wanted to give them a heads-up that the rest of us won’t be hanging around here for a while.
And while I was explaining it to Wylan, I saw that car drive past. I thought I imagined it, but when I was leaving, it drove around again! ”
“What?” I breathe.
“Your dad is stalking you,” Conner murmurs.
“Does he know of our plan?” Sammy asks.
“N-no… at least, I don’t think so,” I whisper.
“At lunch, Dylan and I will try something,” Conner declares. “I don’t think he knows anything about our plan because we thought of it last night. My guess is he knows Noya is turning eighteen at the end of the week, so he’s seeing if she will make a run for it at school.”