Stay

by Chelsea Camaron

  As a toddler, my mama would pinch the back of my arms to get me to stand up straight, a flick to the back of my earlobe if I didn’t smile just so … Children were resilient, they said. No, children were much like pets and easily trained. Behave appropriately and there was no punishment. For every action, there was an equal and opposite reaction—they had taught me that in science class at school.

  That also applied in life trainings of a child. A hand around the back of my neck was a reminder to be ramrod still, for if I wasn’t, a broomstick carried the rest of the day behind my head was sure to teach the posture of a proper lady.

  Had life been the same for Angelina? I hoped not. In my mind, for the well-being of my imaginary friend, I gave her the freedom of smiling a real smile and loving the fancy frills of her cotton candy room. I passed the time by telling Angelina my hopes, my dreams, and I secretly whispered my nightmares, knowing they fell on her deaf ears.

  We spent hours together, Angelina and I. She had a three-story doll house. Together we redecorated it multiple times. Apparently, my friend once liked to read as she had two floor-to-ceiling, built-in book shelves which I spent time perusing. She had quite the collection, and some were beyond my reading capabilities.

  In my mind, my friend taught me. I traced the binds and waited to feel myself called to a specific title. Most days, I read the books aloud so as to share with her the words she was no longer actually there with me to read.

  My mind drifted quite often. Fear gripped me at the thought of the unknown. Why had the stranger taken me? More than that, he was a killer. I had witnessed this first hand. Trepidation and anxiety strangled me every time I thought about that. Would he kill me? Why was I there? Did I even have a future?

  The night he took me was the first week of summer vacation from school. What would I do about going back? Did it matter? I remembered Mama telling me I couldn’t miss days of school. She hadn’t been around me much, but the woman had gotten up every morning to wake me for school and drive me in our big car, and she had been there every afternoon to pick me up. We couldn’t mess up the appearance of our well to-do family, so no matter how tired or annoyed Mama had been, she had made the drive to drop me off and pick me up. A Valencia was far too good to ride a school bus.

  How long had I been here? The more I thought on that question, the more I realized I needed a diary or something to track the nights. If I was going to think of a future, I had better keep track of my present. Did I dare to have hope that I could find my way out of this new situation? How many days had I lost to my day dreaming? Had I gotten too comfortable, only for him to hurt me worse than I had been before?

  Apprehension filled me. I stood at the window for what felt like the millionth time. Reaching out, I held the lace curtain, twisting the material between my thumb and pointer finger. The top under my thumb felt smooth compared to the bottom as the pockets of air in the design gave hesitation to the movement of my fingers.

  Hesitation.

  I couldn’t allow myself to hold back. If I was going to live, really live for the first time ever in my life, I couldn’t simply feel out my situation like the curtain. I couldn’t allow myself to hesitate at the first bit of resistance. I might not be able to escape just yet, but I was alive, and therefore, I must learn to live again in this life.

  Papa Valencia, my grandfather, would tell me, if he was still here, “Nicola, do not hold back. Give it all you’ve got, so as to not look back and wish you had done more. Failure and success can sometimes happen based on one’s ability to push on and not hold back.”

  Spending all of my time surrounded by adults except when I was in school, Papa Valencia had been my very best friend. I missed him even still. Thinking of him, I once again had hope in a hopeless situation to one day see my way through.

  The days continued to pass in a blur, and the nights were filled with me chasing away one nightmare after another. I found peace when I woke up alone. Solitude was my friend in the darkness of the night.

  One night as the stranger entered to bring me dinner, his clothing was disheveled, something that was unusual. His dark eyes met mine as he placed the tray in its usual location, and he then turned to leave.

  Barely above a whisper, I muttered the two words that changed the course of my newfound reality yet again. “Please stay.”

  I hadn’t realized the severity of my deprivation until he took pause to look at me. His gaze burned deep like the night he had found me, the night he had saved me, and the very night he had taken me. Silently, I pled with him not to leave me.

  Solitude, I found safety in it, but it fed my fears at the very same time. On one hand, if I was alone, I was safe. On the other, not knowing what would happen next allowed my mind to wander to places I didn’t want it to.

  Fear hit me. Should I have asked him to stay? Mama had always told me not to talk to strangers. Father had always said children were to be seen and not heard. Had I spoken out of turn in my request?

  Without a word, he moved to the chair beside my bed then dropped his head into his hands and looked to the ground.

  His dark hair was ruffled, as if he had been pulling at it, and his dark dress shoes were polished to perfection, followed up with tailored charcoal dress pants, leading to a crisp white button-up shirt that for once was rolled up to his elbows with four buttons undone, revealing the dark hairs of his chest.

  Shame washed over me as he sat there, unmoving. Why wouldn’t he engage me in some form of chatter? Was it because of how he found me that night? Did he find me revolting?

  A thought hit me and I scurried up the bed until I reached the headboard where I curled into myself. What if he was angry with me for not touching him?

  He hadn’t visited me at night like my father would. How was I supposed to know he needed those things from me? That was what father would whisper in his drunken haze. Over and over, he would tell me he needed release.

  Did my stranger need release?

  Slowly, timidly, I uncurled and moved to him. My stomach twisted as anxiety filled me, and trepidation once again washed over me.

  I placed my shaking hand over his wrist, tugging at him to gain his attention. He looked up at me, his exhaustion showing. I traced my finger down his forearm as my body tightened in fear. I didn’t know what else to do for him. He could have killed me, yet he hadn’t.

  I was suddenly tossed backward to the ground as he jumped up from his seat as if my touch had burned him. Confusion ran through me as fear overtook my body and adrenaline kicked in.

  “Don’t!” he barked at me as he towered over me. “Don’t touch me! That is not what you’re here for!” he roared as he stomped out of the room, leaving me once again to my solitude.

  Tears ran down my face.

  Feeling confused and dirty, I went to the bathroom and turned on the shower, not paying attention as I discarded my clothing.

  No, her clothing. Angelina’s clothes. I had nothing of my own anymore. Was one hell any better than the next? My destiny was my eternity, wrapped in darkness. Crazy questions continued on in my mind as I let the water spray harshly against the tiled walls.

  Stepping into the shower, I wanted to cry out in pain. The water scalded my skin as the steam filled my lungs, and the small room spun. I didn’t move. I let each drop prick and burn my body while I silently wished for it to burn away the memories of my existence. I didn’t allow myself to think of turning it down or stepping out. Like everything else in my life, I didn’t allow myself to escape.

  I was dizzy. I was lost. I was drowning in a sea of uncertainty and filth. Still, I didn’t move.

  There was a noise on the other side of the shower curtain, but I was stuck in place. The pain became real as I looked to my now reddened arms. Then the rings scraped against the metal pole of the shower curtain rod, and I gasped in surprise when my stranger suddenly was standing in front of me, wrapping me in a towel while yanking me harshly out of the spray of water.

  “You can’t do thi
s!” He covered me in the towel then carried me effortlessly to the bed.

  “You … You need release,” I stammered, trying to explain. “If you don’t want me, why did you take me?”

  His eyes went wide at my question as he released me. “You are just a girl. Of course I don’t want you.”

  “But … but … my father,” I stuttered as he stalked fiercely around the room without a second glance back at my naked body.

  Going to the dresser, he tossed clothes at me before turning to face me.

  “He’s no longer around.”

  “Yeah, but you … you…” Fear rose inside me.

  “I’m not him. I’ll never put my hands on you like that. He never should have, either.” His voice was calm and slightly gravely like he had smoked one too many cigarettes.

  Did the stranger smoke? I didn’t know. Why did these random questions fill my mind? I needed to say something, do something, or he would leave me all alone again.

  “Why did you save me?” I whispered. Why did you kill my family? I wondered, but I didn’t dare ask.

  “Your eyes saved you, but that didn’t come from me.” His answer was simple yet complicated, and I didn’t know what to make of it.

  What in my eyes? I wanted to ask.

  He turned away from me as if he couldn’t bear to look at me, and I realized I had clothes in my hands, but I wasn’t getting dressed.

  Relief filled me as it settled in. He wasn’t going to touch me. There was no need to fear that from him.

  I scrambled to dress as my new revelation hit me in the gut. He is not going to touch me, I thought to myself again. I didn’t know if I wanted to dance in pure joy or cry in fear as I wondered what he wanted with me in return. Could it be worse than what I had left behind?

  He stomped into the bathroom where I heard the clattering of him working with the pipes. He then returned, carrying the showerhead and faucet back out with him.

  “When you can behave appropriately, you can have these back. Settle in, sunshine. Your life begins now.”

  Chapter Three

  Somehow, with the knowledge that my stranger wouldn’t be touching me, I found an inner peace, even in my captivity.

  Two days later, after my dinner, the stranger went into the bathroom where I heard him banging and clanging while I sat and wondered what he was doing. A few minutes later, the sound of water filling the tub came from the room and then more clanging when my stranger emerged, faucet in hand.

  “Go and bathe. The water is warm but not scalding as you seemed to attempt to harm yourself with previously.” Each word was laced in a rasp, reminding me of the hardened life this man must have led.

  “I wasn’t thinking straight. I panicked. It … it … just happened. Then I couldn’t make myself get out. I don’t know. I just got stuck,” I whispered, looking up at him under hooded eyelids. I hadn’t meant to hurt myself.

  “If you’re going to move on in life, we can’t have you panicked.” He stated this to me so nonchalantly I was left stunned.

  “Move on with my life?”

  “Well, kiddo, you have to go to school, or I gotta get you some books to homeschool you. It’s a great big world out there, and it’s going to be yours for the taking.”

  “But … but … you…” Fear gripped me. Could I really say it out loud? I needed to. I needed to know why. “You killed my parents. You brought me here, and you’ve kept me. Surely, you aren’t going to send me to school.” I almost said duh, that would be stupid, but I didn’t because I wasn’t sure I should have even pointed out that sending me to school was a failure in his master plan.

  He smiled at me and something in his smile hit me like a punch to the gut. That night, I smiled. While my flesh and blood—my father—bled out around me, I smiled to the stranger. Guilt crept up inside me.

  His face was unreadable. I couldn’t sense or see any emotion from him as he replied, “Fallyn, how are you so certain it was I who killed your family? How are you so certain they are indeed dead? What do you really know other than you are in a beautiful, little girl’s room?”

  I didn’t think; I reacted.

  Jumping up, I walked to him. “Well … well,” I began to stammer. Thinking it over, I didn’t know who had killed them. It had been dark, the man covered. He hadn’t spoken, and he hadn’t looked back. “There was blood. My mother screamed. My father … he…” I gasped as the fear gripped me, and the memories overwhelmed me.

  The man had been covered by the veil of night. I didn’t know if he was one and the same as the stranger before me. He hadn’t spoken that night, only led me out of my home and into his van. I had fallen asleep, and when I woke up, I was here in this room. He had never said a single word. Neither had I.

  How did I know they were dead? I didn’t know for sure, but I was pretty certain, at least for my father. How did I know the man standing in front of me didn’t kill them? I didn’t. However, I also didn’t know if he had. How did I know anything?

  The room spun, and I wanted to cry out in frustration.

  “Why do you have me?”

  His face softened as his eyes seemed to drift to some faraway place in his mind. “I once had a daughter. She wasn’t much older than you when she was taken from me.” He looked around the room as if the memories were passing through his mind.

  “So you had someone take me?” I choked back tears, afraid of his answer.

  “No, I acquired you and have an opportunity to give you a new life.” His calm demeanor resonated within me, soothing my nerves. “The life which she lost, you now gain.”

  An opportunity at a new life. That appealed to my young mind.

  As he looked into my eyes, I felt like he was searching for some unspoken answer, but I wasn’t sure what exactly he was finding. It was all too much for me to process.

  My father and mother might not have been kind, loving, or attentive. They might have been neglectful in only being around when I was there to service something for either of them. For my father, it was his desires. For my mother, it was all for appearances. At the end of every very long day with them, they were still my family. Although I didn’t mourn their losses in the depths of my soul since they hadn’t showed me love, they were still what I knew, all that I knew. Now, I had a chance for a new life. Dare I hope for new possibilities?

  Fear clamped down like a vice, and my heart sounded like thunder in my ears as it beat wildly in my chest. I wrapped my arms around my waist as the panic filled me.

  “Breathe, Nicola. Breathe, angel.”

  Nicola, my middle name, the name my father’s father had given me. Nicholi James Valencia had been my happiness. He would sneak me candy at family gatherings and always kept me close when my mother would try to pull me away, most likely to scold me for some mistake or another.

  Papa Valencia was the only grandparent I had ever known, and he held my only happy memories. While everyone had called me Fallyn, Papa had called me Nicola, his little one. My father had always rolled his eyes in annoyance, and my mother would later whine to my father that his affection for me had always disgusted her.

  Funny that Papa never gave me more than a hug, yet my mother was disgusted by his affections for me. In spite of that, she had watched as her own husband, my own father, would touch me in the dark places where no one should.

  “Breathe, Nicola. Breathe, angel.” The words came again along with thoughts of my papa soothing me in the here and now.

  The memories of my mother and father easily tramped down my fear of the unknown. Yes, I believed an opportunity at a new life with the stranger in front of me would be better than whatever the future had once held with my parents.

  In school, teachers would tell us we could be anything we put our minds to. In this moment, I had a chance to truly become someone else. Anyone had to have it better than I did; at least, I could hope. Just like with my father, I could count my time until I was able to be on my own. So far, my life here had been an improvement from my past.
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  “Go and take a bath. If you can find a way to settle in, you can have the faucets back and shower as you wish. However, until I can be certain you won’t try to harm yourself again, I can’t take the risk.” Without another word, he walked out of the room, leaving me to enter the bathroom. I didn’t even get the opportunity to reaffirm that I wasn’t intentionally trying to hurt myself. I really had been lost in thought.

  I looked at the tub, perplexed. The man had left maybe an inch of water in the basin. What was I supposed to do with that?

  Harm yourself. His words came back to me. He had left me with enough water to get clean, sort of. Washing my hair was going to be a chore. For every action, there was a reaction, a lesson learned yet again.

  “Nicola. Mio caro Nicola, il mio piccolo me, la luce giorni bui di un vecchio.” Papa’s voice rang in my head. He would always mutter in Old Italian; ‘My dear Nicola, my little me, you light an old man’s dark days.’ His great-grandfather came over from Genoa before he was born, but his parents taught him to speak his native language. Papa taught my father, and he shared with me what he could.

  My father had never taught me, saying we were American and didn’t need to hold on to the history. Only during my visits with Papa had I learned anything about our Italian roots. My father had wanted to shut out his father, but working together, it had been hard for him to avoid his father. He had often complained to my mother.

  Papa refused to call me Fallyn, saying my mother had corrupted my father into becoming an all-American who forgot his heritage and, more so, forgot his family. I still didn’t understand the big deal, but I guessed I never would.

  Papa died when I was nine, and no one had spoken of him after that. Since his death, Father had gotten worse to live with, and without Papa Valencia, I’d had no escape until the night the stranger had saved me.

  As I climbed into the tub, I let the day wash over me: the stranger calling me Nicola and all the memories that came with it, the way the stranger was protecting me even from myself as I was trusting him when I wasn’t sure I should have been.