by Amber Lacie
Slipping the truck into park, he turns to look at me. “I love you so much it hurts. It’s why I’m so crazy jealous when it comes to you. You’re so perfect and I want everything perfect, just like you.” His sweet words pull on my heartstrings. Maybe, if I tried harder for him he wouldn’t get so upset. I need this to work; I need us to work.
“I know, baby. I love you, too. I always have.” Leaning over, I place a soft kiss on his cheek, before stepping out of the truck. Gray clouds cover the sky. The first raindrop falls, as I step onto the porch. Waving goodbye, I continue to stand on the top step, letting the soft raindrops fall over me. It feels so cleansing. Letting the ugliness from the past few days wash over me, I look for a break in the clouds. There is none to be found. Perhaps, Mother Nature needed a cleanse as well.
*****
Entering my house, I find my dad in the kitchen cleaning. It is an odd sight. He has my mom’s blue apron around his waist, old Johnny Cash records are playing in the record player my dad keeps in his room, and the smell of bleach permeates the air. I haven’t seen him move around this much, or even do this much around the house since mom died. I tap on the swinging doors to the kitchen to let him know that I am home. It is something that I used to do all the time when mom was home cooking or cleaning. I never wanted to interrupt her dancing around. At the time, I thought she looked so odd and crazed, but now it makes me smile knowing how truly happy she was just being with us.
“Firefly?” My nickname carries from the kitchen, halting me in my tracks.
Swallowing the lump in my throat, I do my best to make my voice sound normal. “Yeah, Daddy?”
“I’m making dinner for you tonight, okay? So, don’t go making plans with that boy of yours. He’s been over every day since my fall, and I think you and I could use some family time. You hear what I’m saying?”
“Yes, Sir. I’m going to set my things in my room and I’ll be right down to help you.”
“No need. I got this tonight. Go do your homework, take a nap, or paint me a picture. It’s been a while since I have had a painting to hang up. I’ll come get you when it’s ready.”
It was my twelfth birthday when my mom bought me my first easel. I had always loved painting, but she saw something in me that I didn’t. When I opened my present, my heart jumped from seeing all the colors of the oil paints and fresh canvas. There was even a receipt for art classes stuck in an envelope in the corner of the box. She knew me better than I did. Sure, I had wanted to paint, and I loved it, but knowing the cost, I would never have asked for such a gift. My mom made my dad hang every picture that I painted. They filled their bedroom and it over flowed into the hallway. Our house was my very own art gallery.
Closing my eyes, I picture my hands controlling the paintbrush, as it slides across the canvas, marking it, staining it, as it absorbs the colors. My heart sighs, I really miss it. Tossing my books and my jacket onto the bed, I pull out an old, worn-looking wooden box from under my bed. It is full of colored pencils, oil paints, markers, and fresh paper. I threw out my easel after mom died. There wasn’t anything left for me to paint. Nothing inspired me, nothing made me happy. I was in a dark and dismal place. The images I drew frightened me, so I locked everything away in this box under my bed. I have tried to throw it away, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Now, looking at the art materials strewn across my bed, I regret tossing the easel out my window. The memory of it shattering into splinters when it hit the cellar doors after me pushing it over the windowsill, doesn’t bring me as much relief as it did then.
Closing my eyes, I picture myself where I want to be in the next few years. Maybe I will be finished with college working at an art studio, while Michael works hard at an office. He will come home to our perfect little white house with red shutters and I will greet him with a smile on my face. Everything will be perfect. Those thoughts bring me so much comfort that I find myself instantly tired. It seems the rain is washing away my stress. After pushing the art materials back into the box that I have set on the floor, I crawl onto my bed and curl up with my pillows. I love the way they surround me. One can never have too many pillows.
My dad’s voice is pulling me from a dream of a perfect little house, with a perfect little fence, with a perfect little yard, with a perfect little flower garden tucked along the side of the perfect little house. “Hey, sweetie. You must’ve dozed off right away. That boy of yours has called a couple times, but I told him you were getting your beauty rest for the big day tomorrow.”
Stretching my arms above my head, I look over at the alarm clock beside my bed. It is six fifteen. I had slept for close to two hours. “How many times did you say he called, Daddy?”
“Two or three, but don’t you worry I made it perfectly clear it was my choice to not let him speak to you. He can wait. I’m claiming today is my day with you. Now, come downstairs. I made meatloaf.”
My dad’s version, and almost anybody else’s version of meatloaf, is completely different. I poke the burnt rectangle, covered in what I think is ketchup on my plate. At least, it is cooked thoroughly. Eager eyes look over at me from across the table, waiting for me to try it. I cut a piece off with my fork and raise it to my lips. The smell of burnt meat assaults my nostrils, causing me to whimper before I take a bite. The horrific, putrid meat burns into my taste buds. I cover my mouth trying to hold the food in my mouth. Swallowing was a natural instinct to keep myself from vomiting and I regret it immediately.
“It can’t be that bad.”
Desperately chugging down some sweet tea, I try to wash the horrid taste of dead animal from my mouth. “No.” I call out to my dad, trying to stop him before he witnesses the evil taste of rotting meatloaf, but it is too late. His mouth closes around his fork. I grip the table ready to run. The look of fear on his face is frightening. I fear he may puke. Grabbing his napkin, he spits it out with a completely disgusted sounding grunt.
“Oh, Firefly, this is just horrible.” For a second, I fully believe I have my dad back. He is laughing and his smile almost touches his eyes, but soon the laughter turns to tears.
“Daddy, it’s fine. I’ll help you make it, or we could go out. My treat. Please, let me take you to dinner. I miss you.”
“No, I won’t have you taking care of me anymore. God, damn it. I’m the fucking adult here, not you!” His fist slams into the table, sending his plate of burnt meat flying into the air. Sucking in my breath, I watch as it crashes onto the tile floor, shattering into a thousand pieces.
“Daddy, please–”
“No. I fucking said no. Just go. Just go away. I don’t want you to see me like this.” He throws his hands up in defeat. The hair on my arm rises, as I watch him walk towards the cabinet above the sink. My stomach sinks at the sight of him pulling out a brown liquor, tossing the cap onto the floor, and chugging down the liquid contents of the bottle. I don’t know what possesses me. Fear? Anger? Hatred? Maybe it is a mix of all three emotions swirling through me. The next thing I know, I am standing beside him, knocking the bottle out of his hands. What happens next shocks me to my core.
My dad raises his hand. I’m not sure if it is to block me from reaching the bottle or to deter my movements, but it doesn’t matter. His hand pulls back, releasing at a speed that I didn’t know existed, slapping me across my face, and knocking me backwards. I lose my footing in the brown liquid spilled on the floor, my feet slide out from under me, and my body lands with a thud onto the floor. The sound of my head cracking against the ceramic tile rings in my ears. A shroud of darkness covers my eyes and I fall deep into an abyss.
Chapter 4
The sound of two voices pulls me from my sleep. My head throbs, as my eyes try to open. Fluorescent lighting glares above me, causing me to blink to regain my focus. There are two men at the end of my hospital bed, arguing in soft, low voices. I recognize them immediately. Knowing what the consequences would be if I called out to one and not the other, I choose a different method to let them know that I’m
awake.
“Daddy?”
Both men turn quickly, locking their hands onto the foot of the bed, as if some miracle has just happened. Squinting my eyes, I look back and forth between the two. Michael’s hair is sticking out in every direction, his shirt is untucked, and worry creases his forehead. Holden is chewing on his bottom lip, his fingers trace the edge of the bed frame, and his t-shirt looks as though he has been chewing on it. I know him all too well, he does it whenever he is nervous.
“Hey, babe. You had a bad fall at the house. Your dad called an ambulance because he couldn’t get you to wake up.” Michael smiles at me awkwardly.
“I fell?” That is what he told them? I fell? No. No, he knocked me on my ass. I remember it perfectly. I didn’t fall. He hit me. I look back and forth from Michael to Holden trying to process what Michael is telling me.
Noticing my confusion, Holden looks at me. “That’s what your dad is saying anyway. He’s in agreement with him, but I don’t know, Carsten. How did your face get bruised in the fall? It doesn’t look right to me.” Looking towards Michael, before stepping around the side of the bed, Holden brushes a stray strand of hair from my face. Leaning down, he whispers in my ear, “What do you remember? I’m your best friend. You can tell me anything. I would never judge you.” My eyes flash towards Michael.
Holden is too close and there is nothing I can do about it. Noticing my reaction, Holden stands and turns towards Michael. “Ball your fists up all you want. I know my girl. This wasn’t a fall.”
“She’s not your girl. You need to fucking go. Now.” Michael’s voice ripples through the air, causing me to sink further back into my pillow, as I close my eyes expecting the worst. Holden must see me recoil because his face reddens with hate and confusion.
“What was that, Carsten? Why would you close your eyes like that? Has he hurt you? Tell me what the fuck is going on right now.” At the sound of Holden’s booming voice, a nurse walks in to check on me, informing me that the doctor will be in shortly. She eyes them both down with a wordless warning. Loud voices in hospitals will always lead to trouble. Holden doesn’t give her look any notice. His feet stand under him like steel poles anchoring him in place. His eyebrows furrow silently, questioning me.
“Michael wouldn’t do that. He loves me.” I lie. I could say I don’t know why and chalk it up to being young and naïve, but that is not the case. I am protecting Michael because he protects me. He is here to save me; he knows what it feels like to feel so empty. “I don’t remember what happened, okay. I think I just slipped.”
“You slipped?”
“That’s what she said, isn’t it? She just woke up and you’re calling her a liar. Some friend you are. You should go, Holden. She doesn’t need this kind of stress.” Giving Michael a smile to reassure him that I know what to do, I turn my head slowly towards Holden.
“Please. Just go. It would be better for everyone if you just left. Please. For me.”
“This is bullshit.” The anger in his voice sears itself into the depth of my heart. Why does it hurt so bad to watch the people you love walk away?
Michael stands for a few more moments after Holden leaves, assessing his next move. Whatever it is must click into place for him because the look he gives me as he sits on my bed would frighten even the darkest of demons. “I know you didn’t fall. I know what he did. Your dad told me everything. You couldn’t just leave him alone. Instead, you decided to be disobedient. You will do as you are told. I know Holden wants more from you. I also know you haven’t given him the chance. For the sake of your father’s life and yours, I suggest you learn your place. Now, the doctor will be in here soon. I want you to tell him you’re fine. You want to come home and rest. It’s just before ten. If you get to leave, it will give you enough time to rest and get ready for the dance tomorrow.”
“He hit me and I’m in the wrong? Who are you? I thought…I thought you loved me.”
“Baby, hush. Now, you’re putting words in my mouth. I never said you were wrong. I love you. Just tell the doctor what I told you and we will get you home. I think you hit your head harder than you think.”
The look of shock and utter confusion on my face doesn’t go unnoticed by him. Instead, he smiles, reveling in the power he now knows he holds over me. Leaning down, he places a soft kiss on my forehead causing butterflies in my stomach. I shouldn’t feel attracted to him, but I do. What kind of sick screw up does this make me? Thoughts whirl inside my head. I need to clear out the clutter in my mind. I feel threatened, but at the same time, he is looking at me as if I am the crazy one. Have I lost my mind? My head throbs, as my fingers rub up the bridge of my nose.
The emergency room doctor pushes open the door and walks in, tightly clinging to a clipboard in her left hand. She is young, maybe mid-thirties, with dark black hair pulled back into a tight bun. Using her index finger, she pushes up the gray-framed glasses on her nose.
“Good evening, Ms. Winters. I have gone over the results and it seems, although you were in and out of consciousness for a bit, you’ve only suffered a minor concussion. I have already spoken to the chief of the medical staff and he agrees with me. There are no rooms currently available to monitor you overnight, so we are sending you home with strict instructions. The young, Mr. Bradshaw has volunteered to stay with you tonight and will alert us immediately if anything should change. Is that alright with you?”
I look down at the clipboard she is holding. It is discharge papers. Obviously, whether I feel safe or not, they want me to leave. Giving her a nod of my head, I sign my name on the line marked with an X. She gives me a brief rundown of symptoms to be on the alert for. Everything seems off, but I am not able to pinpoint it, until she turns to walk out of the room. The doctor places her arm softly on Michael’s shoulder.
“Have a lovely evening, Michael. Make sure you take care of the pretty girl for me. Oh, and please tell your father congratulations on the promotion. I’m sure you’re very proud of him.” Giving him a wink, she steps out of the room, letting the door close quietly behind her.
Michael’s dad got a promotion? “Your dad got a promotion?”
“Yeah. You know medicine is his passion. He’s Vice Chairman of the medical board here, now. Speaking of my dad, I need to call him and let him know we are leaving. He was really worried about you.”
Swallowing, I stand and grab my clothes, neatly folded on the counter beside me. I take my time getting dressed. I run my fingers through my hair a couple of times before turning around to face Michael, who is holding a red jacket with a hood out for me. My brows furrow, questioning his movements.
“It’s raining. We wouldn’t want you getting sick, would we?”
“No, no I guess not.” I slide my arms into the jacket, leaving the front unbuttoned. Linking his arm with mine, we walk out of the hospital towards the parking lot. I can’t help but feel like Little Red Riding Hood as the Big Bad Wolf drives me back towards the hell I live in.
Chapter 5
Something feels as though it is hammering against my skull. My fingers instinctively search out the lump on the back of my head, as I let out a hiss. Fuck. The throbbing feeling in my head intensifies as I sit up and look about my bedroom. Everything is in its place. The sound of footsteps alerts me to the person coming up the stairs. The door slowly opens, as Michael steps into the room.
“Oh, good. You’re up. I was wondering if I should wake you soon. I was starting to get nervous that something might be wrong.”
“I’m fine. What time is it?” I wince from the light, as he pulls open the curtains.
“It’s almost noon. I brought you some soup. I wasn’t sure what you needed for the dance tonight, but I pulled your dress out of the closet. It’s hanging in the bathroom. I wanted to steam it for you, so it wouldn’t have any wrinkles.”
He is nice. Why is he nice? In cartoons when something bad is going to happen there are big bright signs which say ‘Warning’, ‘Caution’, or ‘Do not enter’? I can se
e them flashing all around us as Michael sets up the tray next to my bed. Yet, to my surprise he is genuinely being nice. He helps me get comfortable, offers to bring more soup when I finish mine, and brings me some painkillers for my headache. I sit quietly, observing all of his movements, waiting, watching for some horrible plot to show itself.
Gently setting my bowl back on the tray, I start to stand. Michael rushes at me and I close my eyes, afraid of what is going to happen next. His hand gently squeezes mine, and I look at the face of a man I recognize. This is my Michael. This is my sweet, gentle boyfriend. I am not sure who he has been as of late, but I am hoping that other person is long gone.
“Babe, I got you. Please, be careful. Where would you like to go?”
“I just wanted to take a shower.” My voice is meek and small, afraid the other version of him might come back.
“Your wish is my command.” Gathering everything I point at that I need for the shower in his hands, he opens the door for me and walks me to the bathroom. “Alright, babe. I need to go, so I can get ready for tonight, too. I just wanted to check on you this morning and make sure you were okay. You were still sleeping, so I waited around a bit. Oh, I forgot to tell you. Dad is letting me take Blue to the dance tonight, on the condition I give it a good waxing first. You know how much he loves that car, so I need to make sure I hold up my end of the deal.”
Yeah, I know how much he loves his car. Who wouldn’t love a 1967 Chevelle SS? It is in mint condition with cream-colored leather seats. It would be any car enthusiast’s wet dream. “Yeah, I know. So, you’ll be back to pick me up later, then?”
