21. twenty one
twenty one
EZRA
My father knew how to provoke a reaction from me. He was the only person who made me lose control over myself. I didn’t understand how he did it.
What bothered me the most was the fact that my mother let him do it. He controlled us. My sister, my mum, and I, he did whatever he deemed fit for us. We were all subject to his will. Even if his will was malicious. I opposed it. I hated it. And I hated that I hated him too.
I just couldn’t seem to comprehend how a father could ever treat his own child like that.
I supposed we had his wealth, his reputation, his status, and his obsession with appearances to blame.
I have lived my entire life with the comfort of the riches that came from my father, so I would not complain about the economic tranquility I had indulged in since my birth.
What I complained about was the anxiety and fear I had felt for my own life whenever I was near my father. Three times. Thrice had I lived incidents where my mother and I shared a deep apprehension for the life I breathed. Threefold, I had been hospitalized.
No one besides Zack and Alfred knew of these incidents.
My absences at school were excused as spontaneous vacations or business trips that my father would force me to go on.
The school couldn’t protest because he was their sole funder.
They wouldn’t dare ask questions to the man who governed the administration of the academy.
No one could help me. No one could know. His reputation would be ruined if they found out how disturbed he truly was.
It was all I could contemplate as I walked toward the patio of the school.
All the lights had been turned off. His polished limo had been parked right outside the double doors.
Swiftly, I closed the double doors of the foyer to the school behind me.
They clicked as I walked away, toward my father’s transport.
He had been leaning against his car door.
He bit the inside of his cheek, his nostrils flared, and his face flushed.
I knew then that the conversation we were about to have would be anything but pleasant.
“Father, you called for me?” I questioned.
“Are you not aware of our France trip? Why don’t you have your bags with you?” he asked.
“I believed it would be best if I remained at school this time around.”
“You disobeyed a direct order!” He raised his voice. It took everything in me not to grimace as he took a step forward.
“That is not my intention, father. I simply have a project coming up, and I don’t want to start the school year on the wrong foot with my professors.”
“They serve me. They obey me. If I tell them to excuse you, then you are excused. You know that better than anyone,” he muttered lowly. He strode toward me, his suit had been perfectly ironed, and it almost masked the monster he was inside.
I looked down at the cobblestones beneath me.
“My grades weren’t the best last semester, and senior year is coming up—I don’t want to lose the opportunity to attend my preferred universities.”
“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I would’ve had those teachers fired!” he yelled. “You insubordinate little piece of—”
“I didn’t wish to worry you,” I replied.
He grabbed the collar of my vest, leveling my gaze to his own. His hot breath fogged up my glasses, and I was thankful for it. I didn’t have to see his anger.
Because I knew there was nothing but fury in his gaze. Hate, disdain, contempt. That was all he felt. That was all he gave me.
“Tell me the truth. Why don’t you want to go on this trip?” he asked.
“I wish to stay here, father. I feel ill.”
I wasn’t lying. I felt sick just by thinking of him. And right then, I believed myself to be dying inside from being this close to him.
“Liar,” he muttered before jabbing my face.
My vision was inundated with darkness mixed with bright yellow flashes. My frames clattered to the stone floor. I breathed in, reaching for my face. My right eye had been stricken by his jeweled knuckles, his punch felt like it had reached my brain.
I wouldn’t lose my composure. I couldn’t disrespect him. I refused to react to his provocations.
“You are a disappointment!” he screeched before grabbing my collar again.
Groggily, my left side of vision glimpsed his fist once again.
And then I felt myself jolt back with another burning sensation on my right cheek.
I knew he would obliterate me if I didn’t stand up.
I pushed myself to my feet, prepping myself for the next hit.
That was before a bright light almost blinded me.
I closed my eyes and pushed away from him.
A crash came from inside the foyer of the school.
I heard my father’s breath hitch as he froze. Then, with widened eyes, he rushed into his waiting limo. The engine roared to life before the tires screeching as it hurried away.
I turned back, toward the entrance, and all I could think about was the familiar face that appeared behind the squared entrance window.
There was nothing but sorrow waiting to fall from her stare.
But there seemed to be a certain understanding to my bruised face, that she would keep this quiet as she walked toward me.
My head spun as I tried to walk in her direction.
She ran the rest of the way, setting her arms under mine, holding tightly to my torso. I tried to pull my weight toward myself, but the imbalance I felt in my brain was too great. I pushed with all my might as she partially carried me back into the school.
Hopefully, the noisy disturbances of our shuffled footsteps wouldn’t wake anyone.
I wasn’t in the right headspace to answer any of the students’ questions.
I also didn’t want to talk to anyone, they didn’t need to know of my troubles.
Lysandra didn’t need to either, but she took it upon herself to help me. Why? I didn’t know.
“You don’t have to do this,” I whispered, careful not to raise my voice too much.
Lysandra let go of me, slightly pushing me onto the sitting area situated near the paned windows of the entrance hall.
“Of course I do. Stay here, I’m going to get a pack of ice from the kitchen,” she replied.
“You can’t just sneak into the kitchen,” I hushed, anxiety swelling in my stomach.
“Yes, I can. I’ll be back in a few,” she said.
My head pounded and felt heavy; I barely even missed her absence. The ice packet crinkled between her fingers, I felt the frigidness of her hands before the blocks of ice refreshed my swollen face.
“The cold will lower the swelling of your skin, help with the bruising, and hopefully with your disorientation,” she spoke. Her words seemed more like slurs, but the cool packet relieved me of the hot blood that rushed underneath my flesh. “I also brought some alcohol to clean your scratches.”
“Scratches?” I asked.
“Yeah, your cheek is bleeding.”
Nothing but a frustrating sigh escaped my lips.
“Why are you doing this?” I asked, holding onto the ice.
She shrugged. I watched as she built up the courage to tell me.
“Because I wish someone had done it for me,” she said quietly, a hidden thought almost forming across her features.
I could feel my own heart breaking inside my chest. “What do you mean?” My voice almost cracked.
“It’s a story for another time,” she whispered with a gentle downward curve of her lips. She had softly been jabbing a cotton ball with a strong coat of rubbing alcohol across my cheek. I withheld the flinch that dared leave me.
Slowly, tentatively, I reached for her hand. There was a deep grief portrayed through her brown eyes; the windows of her soul had been wide open for me to comprehend her scars.
“What happened?” I questioned.
She lowered her gaze to her trembling hands, held between my own as she let out a shaky breath. “My stepfather.”
“Is that why you are here? You ran away from home?” I asked.
A slow nod.
“What did he do to you?”
“The physical marks I have are nothing compared to the ones in my heart,” she revealed.
There was a long pause that accompanied us before I replied, “I understand.”
“I know.”
We sat there, right next to each other, in silence. A noiseless ambiance that seemed to weave threads around our hearts, binding us to one another. It was inexplicable.
This girl. She was out of this world, from an entirely different dimension.
No woman deserved to suffer through such horrors, but she hadn’t let it break her.
Instead, it had strengthened her. I admired her strength despite not knowing her entire story, yet I couldn’t wait to hear about her afflictions so that she would no longer have to grasp onto them alone.
“You don’t have to carry your burdens in solitude any longer.”
“Why’s that?” she asked.
“Because they are mine now too.”
A genuine grin caused her rosy lips to move upward, and I made it my life’s mission to continue seeing her smile like that.
“I think he broke my glasses,” I said, breaking the silence that engulfed us.
“Do you have them with you?” she asked.
“They’re outside.”
Lysandra pushed herself from beside me. “Let me go get them.”
Before she could leave, I grabbed her hand. “Thank you.”
Lysandra lowered her chin once before passing the threshold of the foyer and going on a search for my frames.