65. Maladaptive
MALADAPTIVE
I open my eyes and gaze at the still fan. The room’s features heighten, showcasing peeling paint, thin sheets, and sweat saturating me. I flick a look at the ground, and my breath hitches at all the clothes littering the floor.
“Get the fuck away from me!” I hear a thump and Mum’s wailing cry.
The door then suddenly bursts open, and Dad stumbles in.
I sit up, reaching for my blanket and tucking it over my chest while I dart a look around the room, freaked out.
Dad reaches into his pocket and throws money at me.
“Go to the servo, would ya, and get me some more fucking beer.”
What’s happening?
No…
No, no, no!
I was with Conner. We watched a movie, and after the film, when it got dark, we went into our room and fell asleep. I remember staring at the fan while I eased into sleep.
This isn’t real. I will wake up any moment and be in the apartment with Conner. This is just a bad dream. An evil, terrible dream.
“What the fuck are you looking at?” Dad slurs. I blink, and he is over the top of me. He raises his arm, and I embrace it, knowing once he hits me, I’ll wake. My head moves to the side, and my eyes widen at the pulse of pain across my cheek. I touch where he hit me in disbelief.
I’m…
I’m still here.
“Get the fuck up and get my beer!” Dad roars.
Shuffling out of bed, I pick the money up from the ground and slip my thongs on. Dad watches me grab my phone from under my bed and race out the door.
It’s warm… too warm… too realistically warm. I hear the crickets, and my shadow moves as I move.
Mrs Crawford’s light is on, and she peeks out the window. I raise my hand to her when she quickly closes the blinds, shutting me off from view.
Conner…
I go into my contacts. His name isn’t there. There’s no number and no messages from him at all. The last message was from Andy complaining about how he had to finish his assignment, which he had never started, and I didn’t reply.
I remember this day…
This is the day I met Conner at the service station!
I run. My breaths hitch, and my stomach feels sick.
Really, really ill. Sweat beads down my forehead, and my body aches.
It’s been so long since I’ve run, and I’m running to him…
to see him. If I see him, I’ll wake up from this nightmare, and all is well…
everything will be fine after seeing Conner.
I know it will! I just know!
The service station is lit like a beacon in the night—my haven.
I dart a look at the car park, and my heart lurches at the white Toyota Corolla parked there. My smile brightens, and excitement launches inside. I jog to the entrance, and the doors open, beckoning me to enter. James notices me, and his smile falters as if he realises why I’m here.
But that’s not the case. Not tonight. I’m here for something more. I’m here to get my dream back.
I run towards the aisle where I know he’s in. I stand at the end of the aisle, my breath heaving out and my heart beating beyond my control.
He is there, his brows furrowed and his hazel eyes darkening while he concentrates on what flavour chips he will pick. I smile at how intensely focused he is, as if this is a life-and-death matter.
I walk over to him and stand beside him. Leaning down, I grab the salt and vinegar chips, turn towards him, and hand them to him.
“How did you…” His brows furrow.
“Because I love you, and I know this is just some stupid dream I will wake from, and then everything will be okay,” I declare confidently.
His brow arches, and he blinks a few times, as if struggling to understand.
Maybe I need to kiss him to wake me from this dream.
I grip his shirt, lean in, and let my lips collide against his. But it lasts a second before he shoves me off. “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
My eyes widen.
What’s happening? Why am I not waking up? Why am I still here?
Conner walks around me and heads to the front with his packet of chips and energy drink.
I blink a few times, bewildered.
I mechanically head to the fridge, grab the six-pack of beer, and head to James. As I pay, he slips the Snickers bar into the plastic bag. My throat tightens, constricting. As I head out the door, warmth falls down my cheeks.
Was everything… was it all a dream? And this… is this real?
I bite my lip until I taste iron.
Wake up, Noya! Wake up! Wake up! Wake up! Wake up!
Conner leans against his car, smoking a cigarette. I move towards him when he arches his chin and glares at me like I’m some… some freak he doesn’t know.
“Hey.” I jolt, realising the two police officers before me. The younger one glares at the bag while the older one has his arms folded across his chest. “What’s in the bag?”
I bite my lip. “Um…”
I flinch when I hear the car door close. I turn towards the Toyota, my stomach dropping when Conner reverses out of the parking spot. His window is down, and as he reverses, those hazel eyes glare at me while mine widen in disbelief.
“I said, what’s in the bag?”
My shoulders slump as I watch the car drive off down the street. “Beer,” I croak.
“Can I have some I.D.?”
“I’m seventeen,” I answer while staring at my feet. “This beer isn’t for me.” I sound robotic. Dead. As if all life drains from me. “My dad told me to come here and get beer for him. He beats me every night and is a raging drunk who abuses my mum any chance he can.”
“Look, kid, you have to come with us.”
“Okay,” I reply in defeat.
I hand the police officer the bag of beer and slide it into the backseat of the police car.
I sit there, chewing on my cheek while repeatedly tapping my foot.
My hands tighten on my shirt, and I feel like dying.
I feel like grabbing the gun at the police officer’s waist, pressing it to my head and pulling the trigger.
“So, you said your dad told you to get the beer?” the younger police officer questions.
“Yes.”
“What’s your name?”
“Noya Dawn Taylor.”
“Taylor?” the guy questions. “John Taylor’s daughter?”
“Yes.”
“That’s a hefty accusation against another police officer, Noya. Are you sure that beer is for him and not for one of your friends?”
“Yes.”
They look at each other and grimace.
The police station isn’t that far.
The young police officer grabs my arm, and I flinch, leaning away from him while he moves me towards the doors.
The lady at the reception desk looks up momentarily, sees me, and then turns to the older police officer when he approaches her.
The younger one moves me to a room and tells me to take a seat.
“We will have to call your dad,” he declares.
“Okay.”
The police officer sighs. “Look, kid. If you tell me the truth, that the beer was for a friend, we won’t have to call your dad and get you into further trouble.”
“Call him,” I mutter. “I don’t want to live this life without him.”
“Who?”
My heart aches as I relive watching Conner drive away.
It was all a dream. This is reality. No one is that eccentric, kind, caring, and helpful. This Conner did what I expected him or anyone else to do: ignore me and move on with their lives.
It was all a maladaptive daydream.
I bow my head, place my face in my hands, and sob.
“I’m going to take you home,” the young police officer declares.
I straighten up. “Why?”
He darts a look at the older police officer and then back to me. “I’ll be right back. When I return, we won’t report you for buying alcohol underage. I’ll take you to John.”
My eyes widen. “Why?”
“Because I know your dad, and I know he would be pissed if he found you here,” he hisses. “Now shut up while I get you out of this mess.”
He leaves the room and heads to the older police officer. I blink a few times, struggling to take all this in. Why would he do that for me? Unless… unless… is he the one working with my dad?
I bite my lip, confirming he likely is the one.
My eyes scan his desk when it settles on the letter opener. I dart a look at them talking and then back at the letter opener. I reach out to it, taking hold of the handle, when the policewoman I recognised at the hospital comes out of an office.
I stand, head to the door, and swing it open. “Officer Kenzy!” I call.
She looks up from the papers she was reading and says, “Who are you?”
The young policeman quickly approaches my side and says, “She’s just a minor we found on the streets. I’m taking her home now.”
“My dad beats me every night!” I scream as if I’m screaming into the void.
“John Taylor is my dad, a drunk, toxic man. If I go home…” I raise the letter opener and press it against my throat.
I feel hot tears streaming down my face.
“I’m not going back to that hell. And if you try to make me, I am more than happy to take my life. ”
Police Officer Kenzy raises her hands, and her eyes widen in horror. I’m unsure if it’s because of my threat or because I hold a weapon up to my throat.
“Office Cole, step away from the girl,” Officer Kenzy demands. He does as she says. “Your dad is John Taylor? That’s what you said?”
I nod repeatedly.
She takes a deep breath and opens her door. “I’ll listen to you.”
My heart lurches. But I’m not done. I step towards the young police officer and point the letter opener at the policeman I believe is working with him, when I hear a loud bang.
My eyes widen, and a ringing stings in my ear at the sound.
I look down at the blood seeping out of my chest, and when I look up, the young policeman has his gun directed at me.
My legs turn to jelly, and I land on my knees before the woman grabs me. “Why did you shoot?!” she demands.
“I… I thought she was going to attack me!” he cries.
What’s happening?
I gaze up at the fluorescent light above, which blurs as the tears slip down my cheeks.
I feel light… too light.
Maybe this was supposed to happen…
Life of–
“Noya!” I suck in a breath, my hands clenching the fabric, and my eyes fly open. Conner holds my face, his thumbs dragging across my cheeks. “Baby, it’s okay,” he breathes. “It was a bad dream.”
I gaze at the spinning fan, rotating around and around. My irregular breathing eases, and my shoulders slump.
I smile.
The fan. It’s moving.