Rival Roulette

☔︎ Chapter 50: To Kill A Mockingbird ☔︎

I can see the petit white armoire that's slightly ajar, it holds my old ballet uniform and slippers, my old dresses and assorted clothes that don't fit anymore. I don't fit in this room anymore, I don't fit in this country anymore, I just don't fit I don't fit. Everything feels so claustrophobic and small around me, I cannot love this room anymore because it feels like a prison, I cannot look up at the sky because it's a ceiling pressing down on me. I shut my eyes and struggle against the cold metal of the handcuffs.

The first person who comes to see me is my mother, who seems entirely lost in a world of her own. Her hair is Kathleen knitted into cornrows, the faint glow of her dark skin a reflection of the midday sun, her eyes glossed over by this sensitive aloofness that I can't quite explain. She wears her favourite lilac blouse and a matching skirt, it is at this exact moment as I realize that I might as well be a cob and copy of her. There is no denying that I got more of my mother's jeans and lots of my father's, but it's only now that I have known myself as a woman that I am able to see myself and her reflection.

My worst fear as a child was to become like her, to be cold, stoic and completely and affectionate with her children, to be married to a man who is all power and no heart. Sometimes I often found sanctuary beside my father, making snide remarks about how incompetent my mother was, how delusional I was– not to know that speaking with ill will about my mother with my father would not save me from her fate, not entirely at least.

She prances around my room to the tune of my old Silver musical box that plays a strange tune that sounds a bit like a violin. And then she pauses, "tell me, Nadya..." she begins sitting herself on the foot of my bed, "is it true that you are the wife of that Czechoslovakian rebel?"

"He has a name." I fight back straining against the cuffs, "a name that I'm sure all the world knows by now."

"A name that will soon be forgotten." She refuses with a pitiful laugh, shaking her head, "I do not disapprove of you marrying young, but why him Nadya?"

"Because I love him." I respond simply, "I love him."

"Because you love him, heavens Nadya you know as well as I do that no one is going to believe that. Was this some act of defiance against your father? If so then it's understandable as a teenager but why to such drastic lengths?" She asked me searching her mind for answers, "perhaps if we tell your father that you're sorry he won't be as harsh on you—"

"Mama I am a lot of things but I am not sorry. I will not lie and say that I regret loving him and choosing what is right for me, what is morally right—" I begin but she cuts me off in frustration.

"You are eighteen years old, what do you know of what is morally correct?" She scoffs, "I am trying to help you, I'm trying to save your life, your father is livid, he will kill you and feel no mercy and your brothers and I will be left to mop up your blood. Is that what you want?"

"My father is a coward, striking down anyone who dares to speak up against his doctrine. I have lived in his shadow all my life, but now...now I have seen the light and I cannot go gently into that good night. I no longer know the darkness— matter of fact the darkness that he forced me into at such a young age has become my ally. I will not say I am sorry, because I'm not." I seethe, and my mother lowers her head.

She reaches out her hand to hold my right hand taking a look at my ring finger, her eyes swim with emotion. "A blue Diamond." She asks and I nod silently, "A rare gem indeed, clearly this is a man who knows your worth."

"It is a man who knows my worth is not defined by jewellery." I hiss jarring my hand away the best I can, I turn my head to the side, shunning her. "I want to be alone."

"Oh Nadya, I never wanted you life to end up this way. You were always an entirely over-emotional child, I hoped it wouldn't bleed into your adulthood but I was wrong. You are still allowing your heart to lead you and not your mind, what a pity, I wanted better for you." She sighs standing up and placing a trembling kiss against my cheek.
"J'espère que tu trouveras la paix et que tu seras plus sage un jour," she whispers to me in French.