55. Monday #3
Walking to the front gates, I notice Conner with Dylan and Sammy by his car. I tear my gaze away from them and head to the car parked out front, waiting for me. As soon as I close the door, I flinch at the sound of the lock.
“How was your day?” Dad asks as we drive to my work.
I tighten my hold on my pants and murmur, “Uh… good. A little hot… I guess.”
“Is that why you weren’t hanging out in your usual spot?”
My eyes widen a fraction. “Pardon?”
He eyes me. Those piercing, evil eyes feel as though they can see right through me. “You usually hang out at the back of the buildings with your friends.”
“Um… yeah. We changed locations.”
“Today.”
“Huh?”
“You were there on Friday, and it was a hotter day than today.” Dad glares out the window. “You so happened to change locations today.”
I bite the inside of my cheek, peeling the flesh as I glare down at my shoes.
My body feels as if it is trembling with renowned fear.
This isn’t the first time he has circled the school.
This is the first time we’ve caught him doing it.
And now he has caught me in his net and knows I am acting suspiciously today.
However, I need to keep my cool. I need to pretend nothing is wrong.
“Yeah. The drama class was open today.”
Dad grunts, not believing a word. It doesn’t worry me too much.
He has believed nothing I’ve said in a very long time.
All I need now is to bide my time and wait for the opportunity tonight at work.
I’ll take it as soon as I see it. Conner’s right.
Dad can’t watch the front and back exits while I am at work.
It’s not like school, where it’s much more difficult to slip out without being noticed.
There are a lot of exits here and a lot more people.
I can do this.
I prepare myself, and my stomach churns with anxiety when I see the shopping centre entrance ahead. Clutching my phone within my grasp, I’m ready to use it when I have the chance, when Dad drives past. I straighten in my seat and look back at the entrance, baffled.
“I have work today,” I say.
“I cancelled it earlier today,” Dad declares. “You don’t have work for the rest of the week.”
My breath hitches. “Why?”
“Because I can.”
“But—”
“Shut the fuck up, Noya, and stop asking questions,” Dad snaps.
I flinch, shying away until I shrink against the car door. I wish it weren’t locked. I wish I could pull the handle and jump out. Anything is better than being in here with him.
I need to tell Conner as soon as possible. Not now, though. I can feel Dad’s gaze on me as we drive home.
As soon as we park, I’m inside the house. Mum is in the kitchen, a fake smile plastered on her face as she welcomes me home.
I head into my room, lock the door, sit on my bed, and message Conner.
Me: I don’t have work tonight. My dad cancelled every night I have this week.
Conner: We’re leaving tomorrow. Delete our entire conversation.
Me: Okay.
After I delete our messages, I place my phone in my lap, drag my hands through my hair and groan. What do I do? I suppose if I can stay up late tonight, there might be an opportunity for me to leave. All I need is patience.
My phone vibrates. I expect it to be from Conner, but it’s a message from Olivia, to my surprise.
Olivia: Hey, Noya. I’m sorry I couldn’t say goodbye to you. You were a fantastic worker, and we were SO happy to have you in our team!
I look forward to knowing what your next adventure will be!
I furrow my brow.
What is she talking about? She’s acting like I am… what did Dad say to her? Did he do something to jeopardise my job? Who am I kidding? That’s what he would have done.
Should I reply to her? If I ask questions, she might send Dad a message, and I don’t want him to know Olivia sent me a message. I don’t know what to do because I want to know what she means, but I don’t want her to send Dad a message questioning whatever he said to her.
Weighing up one or the other, I’d rather not reply.
A few hours later, Mum knocks on my door and announces dinner is ready.
Taking a deep breath, I sit up in bed, place my phone in my pocket, unlock my door, and leave the room.
Dad’s already at the table, a bowl of pasta in front of him, and Mum’s serving mine and sliding it to where I’ve sat for breakfast and dinner for the past few days.
Next to the pasta is a cup of orange juice—a weird additive for dinner.
I hesitantly sit down and swallow the sickness rising after inhaling the pasta’s smell. Again, I wait for them to eat theirs before taking my bite. Even knowing it’s leftovers, the thought of eating first in this bizarre world frightens me.
“Lilly,” Dad says, calling Mum by her first name. It’s been a long time since he called her Lilly. It’s usually some provocative, horrid slur. “Let’s have a roast dinner tomorrow night.”
Mum stiffens. Her eyes widen before she tugs that fake smile and straightens her posture. “I thought we were having a roast for Noya’s birthday.”
Dad leans back in his chair and smirks. “I thought we could celebrate earlier.”
Celebrate earlier? What does that mean? Why am I on edge? As if something terrible is going to happen tomorrow night.
My mouth goes dry, and the food tastes like poison dancing on the tip of my tongue. I take a sip of the orange juice.
All my surroundings heighten. The sound of the fork scraping against the bowl. The loud chewing from Mum and Dad. The shuffling movements of our bodies as we try to get comfortable in seats we’ve never sat in before.
The news is blaring, telling me about a girl dying in her home after years of neglect and torture. The drip of the faucet Mum doesn’t tighten. They all consume me as this rush of fright hits me like a truck, smashing into me and shattering me into pieces.
I need to get out of here.
After dinner, I go into my room and lock the door. Pacing back and forth, I eye the window. I grab hold of it and pull until my fingers slip. Silently screaming, I cradle my throbbing, wounded finger. Blood swells underneath the Band-Aid, and my hands tremble at the sight of it.
Can I smash the window in time and escape? By the time I break the window and try to run, Dad can round the front of the yard. There’s a chance Mrs Crawford could hear me if I shattered the window and screamed her name, but would it be too late?
I drag my hands through my hair and swear under my breath. I don’t know what to do.
Well, there’s nothing you can do until your parents fall asleep. That’s your chance.
I sigh while slumping onto my bed. I gaze at the still fan, realising I’m right. There’s nothing I can do until Dad falls asleep. So, I’ll wait for…
My eyes grew heavy.
I’ll wait for…