36. Chapter Thirty-Six
After making us some sandwiches, I carefully helped her put on one of the bras. It’s unusual, helping a woman put on a bra. I swear my knuckles still tingle from the process.
It’s a relief when she insists on using the bathroom on her own. This is already so far out of my comfort zone; half the time I want to peel off my skin and scream. Helping her on the toilet might send me over the edge.
I’m fairly certain she’s feeling the exact same way. We’re two terrified predators who have never been permitted a kind hand; there are quiet limits to it all.
Kyrielle’s yawning up a storm by the time I help her into the closet and onto the bed.
She grumbles about sleeping on her stomach and reluctantly asks me to help her organize pillows.
When she’s situated, I lay out two blankets and pillows for my makeshift bed a few feet away.
Not close enough to touch, but I’ll be able to immediately help if she needs it.
Upon her request, I lock all the front door deadbolts, as well as the ones in the bedroom. I refuse to point out that I would shred anyone stupid enough to break-in. It’s not actually about defense — I know that better than anyone.
Never in my whole life have I slept through the night near or next to a woman.
While a normal person would be afraid of possibly drooling, farting, or stealing the blankets …
I’m terrified of waking her with one of my nightmares.
It would be smart to warn her, but I'm foolishly hoping that the one thing that happens when I'm not asleep in my own bed won't happen tonight.
When it’s time, I turn off the light and lay down on a blanket, pulling the second one over me.
It’s dark, but not so much that I can’t see her face and heat signature.
She’s watching me, arms resting under her head.
Her pupils are wide and fathomless. In the dark, she has a faint glow. Just like a firefly.
I’m obsessed.
“Trinte?”
I roll onto my side to face her. “Mmhmm?”
“Thank you.”
My lips purse. “Nothing to thank me for.”
She grimaces as she shifts. “Of course there is. You stepped up, even though I’m sure this is extremely uncomfortable for you.”
Understatement of the decade. “You needed help. I like to help people.”
In the shadows, Kyrielle nibbles on her lower lip. “Why do you like to help people?”
Knowing she doesn’t have the same sense of sight, I’m comfortable not hiding the shame on my face. Curling into myself a little more, I close my eyes. “Why wouldn’t I want to help people?”
“Who helps you?”
Three words equal to three knife slices. “Those are two questions, Firefly.”
There’s a chance I won’t survive until dawn. This woman is determined to strip me bare in the last twenty-four hours.
“So you’re not comfortable answering them?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
The room’s silence stings my ears. When her breathing evens out, my body relaxes. Rolling onto my back, I stare at her pock-marked ceiling.
Who helps you?
I can count on one hand how many times people have helped me. Some of it’s due to stubbornness. Most of the time, though, it’s because people don’t notice the silent drownings. Those who splash in distress receive the most attention.
But I’ve been silently drowning since I was ten. I’ve perfected the art of not making waves.
***
The scent of dinner grumbles my belly as I work on my homework. The assignment’s due tomorrow, and math has never been my strength. Fynn’s out with his friends, but when he gets home, we plan on playing video games.
But only if I get this assignment done.
“Trinte, can you come here?”
I frown at the sound of Dad’s voice from his bedroom. Looking at the last math problem, I hesitate. One more scribbled answer and I’m home free.
“Trinte?”
Sighing, I place the pencil down on the table. “Yeah, coming.”
Before heading back, I check on the dinner roasting in the oven. The timer says there’s fifteen more minutes left. Video games and dinner — I can’t wait.
“Trinte!” Dad sounds more impatient than usual.
Trotting down the hallway, I call back, “Coming!”
Dad’s standing in the bedroom with his shirt off. He watches me with a look I don’t understand. Anxiety punches me right in the chest. Why do I feel this way?
I stop at the doorway. “You called?”
Dad motions for me to come in. “Close the door.”
My feet won’t move. “Why?”
An unrecognizable darkness crosses his face. He’s always had a bit of a temper, but nothing that matches the hatred twisting his features now.
“I said get in here. Now.”
Not wanting a tail thrashing, I step into the room and close the door. Heart thundering, I focus on my breath, trying to avoid sounding panicked. But what’s going on? Why is he so mad at me? I try to think of everything I’ve done today, but nothing comes to mind.
He points a blood-red finger at me. “You should have never been born.”
I shrink back from the words. It’s not the first time he’s said it, but it hurts every single time. There’s nothing I can say to deflect the words, so I stay silent.
Dad begins to undo his belt, increasing the pounding of my pulse. Is he going to beat me with it?
“I loved my wife. And you took her from me.” I cringe as the belt slowly slides out of the loops. “A man has needs, Trinte. Do you understand?”
I shake my head. With a trembling voice, I say, “N-No, I don’t, sir.”
He tosses the belt onto the ground. I watch it fall, coiling like a sleeping snake. Is he not going to hit me with it? “Take your clothes off, Trinte.”
My eyes fly to his face. “W-w-what?”
“Take them off. Now.”
Pressing myself into the door, bones rattling with fear, I shake my head. “W-why?”
“Because I’m going to teach you exactly what you’re good for. Now take your clothes off, or I’ll do it for you.”
For the first time, but not the last, my mind disassociates. I watch it all happening from elsewhere, so the pain isn’t mine. It’s someone else’s. A nightmare from another person’s life. Not mine.
When it’s all over, I’m forced to dress myself, shaking with pain, terror, and shame. I slide my pants on like slipping on a mask. By the time my shirt is on and Father is in the shower, it’s all wiped away.
Stepping out of the room, my mind settles into a new reality.
Ignoring the way my body throbs, I check the food inside the oven.
It’s blackened from being in too long. Enjoying the blistering of my fingers, I grab the pan and remove it.
Placing it on the stove to cool down, I sit back down at the table. Mind blank, I finish the math problem.
When Fynn gets home, I smile. We go play video games, and this version of Trinte lives in a bubble where pain doesn’t exist.
Where an entire future wasn’t robbed within a single evening.
***
“Trinte!”
Hands. Hands are on me.
Snarling, I grab the offending wrist, ready to break it, but a pained gasp stills my body. Eyes bolting open, I see a living flame watching me with fear-wide eyes.
Letting go of Kyrielle, I scramble out of the makeshift bed until I slam into the empty bed frame. Hyperventilating, I take in her body, still on her belly. She’s crawled to me. I choke out a sob, full of shame. I should’ve never fallen asleep.
“Trinte, are you okay?”
The tears won’t stop coming now. It takes a couple of embarrassing attempts, but I’m finally able to pull myself to standing and rush to the bedroom door. My hands, slick with sweat, struggle to undo each lock. She says my name again, but I can’t look at her.
Talk to her.
Hear her.
When the last deadbolt is undone, I swing the door open and slam it shut. Desperate to put space between us.
Between me and the dream.
The memory.
“Trinte!” She screams my name, anguished.
I can’t look at her.
I can’t look at myself.
This apartment is too small.
It’s too fucking small.
Mindlessly driven by terror, I unlock the deadbolts on the front door.
When I’m free from the apartment, I inhale the fresh air.
Everything in me screams to leave, to run.
To fly into the darkness, right into a mountainside.
To become a desiccated corpse at the rocky base.
Where the nightmares can’t follow me anymore.
But I can’t leave her.
My shame is already compounded by the fact that she’s probably worried sick and possibly hurting herself to find me.
Sliding down against the front door, I hug my knees, shaking violently in the warm breeze. Focusing on my breath, I repeat the mantra, hoping to soothe the rotted horror living inside what’s left of this battered soul.
I’m safe. He can’t hurt me.
I’m safe. He can’t hurt me.
I’m safe. He can’t hurt me.