Chapter 13 #2
“Go ahead and report me.” I strode toward the desk.
“Expose my game.” He looked up. His grin disappeared.
“What?” I stopped in front of his desk, propped myself up on it, knowing full well that without this desk between us, I would have been a much smaller person and would have bitten my tongue before saying a word against him.
“Can’t you?” His fist clenched around my picture, letting it sink. “Do you have too much to lose?”
I straightened up to create more distance, even though his slaps could no longer hurt me. Having to look him in the eye was humiliating enough.
Physical violence could leave its mark, but people were too quick to underestimate the power of words. Children were malleable lumps of clay, and every word burned into their facade as soon as their material hardened.
For a moment, I felt like I was in control, presenting him with the facade he had shaped.
He stared at me as if I were his worst nightmare. Good.
“You dare...” His voice grew louder and drops of spittle hit me. “...to talk to me like that?!”
He slammed his fist on the table and I backed away.
With barely noticeable trembling hands, he tore my picture in half and crumpled it up before throwing it across the room and storming around the desk.
“I should have prevented you from being born when I had the chance!”
All my self-confidence plummeted and I began to back away.
“You stupid, foolish child!”
I bumped into the wall, tensed up, prepared for anything and yet never prepared.
“You belong where your whore of a mother is right now!”
Far too quickly, he was upon me, grabbing me by the collar.
Warm, wet signs of weakness filled my eyes.
The stench of alcohol filled my nose as I stared into the gray eyes that I had watched far too long every morning in the mirror.
“Under the ground!”
More spittle hit my eye.
Please stop. Please make it stop.
I wouldn’t tell him. I was too paralyzed for that.
If only he knew how much I wanted to leave, how much I wanted to be with Mama. In Wonderland.
My father leaned toward me, lowered his voice, and the goose bumps on my neck were more painful than the knot in my stomach.
“You will withdraw from Maplecrest today.” There was menace in his words.
Words soaked in madness. “And should you get any foolish ideas about disobeying me and making another stupid mistake, I will have Anthony’s savings accounts frozen.
” He smiled, watching with satisfaction as the next tear made its way down my cheek.
“Because most of his money… is still mine.”
He pushed me against the wall, where the ornately decorated wood dug into my back, turned away, and stormed out of his office.
Broken
Isak Danielson
The slam of the door triggered my knees to lose all their remaining strength, and I sank to the floor, sobbing miserably, pulling my knees up and burying my head in them, just as Mama had always done.
He wouldn't change.
My sobbing ripped my heart apart.
Nothing compared to the pain of old scars being torn open.
He would drink more.
Tears streamed down my face and I let it all out, sobbing until I couldn't take it anymore and had to press my hand over my mouth to keep from screaming uncontrollably.
The longing for the liberating pain that only one thing in this life could bring me grew unstoppably, forcing me back to my feet, through the quiet hallway and up the stairs to the third floor, until I shut the bathroom door behind me, turned the key twice, and opened the bathroom cabinet.
He was no longer Papa.
I ripped open the small box containing the razor blades, my vision blurring, and almost dropped the blade as I collapsed in front of the mirror at the edge of the bathtub and rolled onto my side on the cold tiles.
Papa was gone.
Whimpering, I pushed the sleeve of my right arm up to my elbow and, with trembling fingers, placed the razor blade in the middle of my forearm.
How many times had I promised myself I wouldn't do it again? How many times had I lied to myself?
One for all my lies, which had never really saved me.
With a white-knuckled grip, I pulled the blade across the pale skin of my tense arm with all my courage. I wanted to press it deeper, but my fear of causing irreversible damage was too great, so I pulled the blade back.
Tiny drops of blood emerged from the reddened cut, but as always, the cut was not deep enough, not even completely reddened.
Either I was as careful as possible, or I cut so deep that there was no turning back. There had never been anything in between in my life. One extreme chased the next. Balance was a foreign word to me.
Didn't that make me an excellent author?
Sobbing, I placed the blade next to the mark that could have been left by a cat.
One for Mama...
This time I applied more pressure.
One for the alcohol I hadn't been able to keep away from her.
One for the bad grades that proved how stupid I was.
One for the painted walls, after which Mama had gotten Papa's fist in her stomach.
One for the kittens I had picked up from the street, ready to build them a cardboard castle as a home. Father had found them and disappeared into the basement with them. They, too, were in Wonderland now.
One more for all my failed attempts to be a perfect daughter.
“I'm so sorry, Mama…”
My voice was barely a whisper. Snot ran from my nose.
I had ruined her life.
One for the shards of glass I had had to search for in our old house. Even they had cut me deeper than a blade ever could.
One for each one I hadn't found and my father had stepped on.
Mama had also had to take those punches for me.
One for the burglaries when Mama had had no money left for food and medicine. The police had found my fingerprints. Something that wouldn't have happened if I hadn't taken all the medicine that sounded similar to what Mama had needed.
Such a stupid child.
One for the beer bottles my father had found in the basement and poured out in my room. He had thought I had bought them for her.
One for all the things my father had said to me. All the lies I had let become my truths.
One for all the ink stains I left on other people's paper.
One for the high school diploma I would never have.
One for the college degree I would never have.
One for the family I would never have.
One for the father I never had.
With each additional cut, my exhausted body relaxed further, even though the floor beneath my temples was already wet and I was shaking uncontrollably.
I was in control. For a moment, I had control over my pain, could end it when it became too much, but right now my body was just screaming for more. It wanted to drown in control.
One for Lara and Thomas, for whom I would be a burden for all eternity.
One for Vincent.
One for leaving him behind in Wonderland.
One for Wonderland.
My blade froze and I threw it into the sink, but missed, so it landed with a soft clink on the floor and slid under the bathroom cabinet.
After five minutes, the cooling, redeeming pain of the twenty-one blade marks finally set in, which would last two hours if I was lucky and would be completely healed within two weeks.
Only the control I had thought I had for a moment slipped away deceptively.
In this life, he had control over me. He would always have it. No matter where I went. No matter how many instances I put between us. He would show me where my place was. His voice would be in my head forever. His words engraved in the coffin of my body.
I had been dead since the moment I was born.
Pain might feel like a way to breathe,
but it was never meant to be one.
– Blue