Captured (A Modern Medusa Story)

CHAPTER 7: PHOEBE💙

I heard the man’s footsteps, but not close enough. If I could guess, then he was standing by the door of my bedroom.

“Hey Papa,” I gave him a smile. “You’re back home early today.”

“Hey sweetheart, whatchu working on?”

“Um–Nothing, just revising my notes,” I lied. “How was your day at work?”

I had a feeling he was wearing a grin.

He finally approached as I pushed back my chair while still sitting on it. I could feel him standing before me. I think he was leaning a hand on my desk. The desk which had no sign of notes being revised except from the brailler I had been typing on.

“My day was . . .”

He took my hand in his and slowly squeezed it, as if trying to give comfort but secretly searching for something else, something I neither knew nor could see.

“Sore.”

His voice had changed. It wasn’t lovely anymore. It was grim.

“What do you mean?” Confused.

“Your fingers . . . They feel sore, don’t they?”

I knew where this was going.

“Papa, I–”

“You’ve been writing those stupid poems again, haven’t you?”

I swallowed, turning my face downcast.

I didn’t like this. I never did.

“No,” I lied in defence. “I wasn’t writing anything.”

“You were. I saw you when I came in.”

Did he sneak up on me? Because honestly, that brought goosebumps all over my arms. How long had he been watching me?

Had he heard me when I whispered the words I wished to say to my mother if I ever met her?

I let out a breath.

Why couldn’t I just do what I loved without him intervening in my privacy and setting up his deranged systems that benefit no one except his own goddamn self?

“I’m twenty-two years old, Papa. I can do what I want.”

I pulled my hand away from him, stood up, and went to lie down on my bed.

There was an uncomfortable silence afterward.

Was he watching me?

I stared at the ceiling, wishing he came later instead. Or maybe not even come home at all. The house felt more at home when he wasn’t around. As long as Miss Halima was here to help me through my day, then everything was perfect. I could leave without him. But again, if I said that to his face, I would be dead.

Yes, dead. That was my father.

He wanted to be acknowledged and obeyed. He wanted to be on top of the food chain from dusk to dawn and be worshipped like a god.

“You’ve been so ill-mannered lately. Is it that friend of yours? The one you hang out with at college?”

“I’m not ill-mannered, Papa. What did I even do to make you think that?”

Footsteps. Heading to the door or coming my way? I can’t figure out but somewhere, they stop.

“You also seem so confident about yourself these days. It’s like you’re forgetting who’s been providing you with everything you need. Who’s been watching over you all this time and making sure you have a decent meal every day?”

“Noreen is just a good friend, Papa. Is there something wrong with that?”

“Oh,” He chuckled. “How unbeknownst to you.”

My eyebrows furrowed.

He’s moving away now, and I could hear his disappearing footsteps.

“What–”

“Well . . . I have better things to do with my time than argue with a misbehaving girl. I’ll get going. See you at dinner.”

I wasn't sure what to think of his words.

What did he mean ‘unbeknownst to me’? What was going on?

“Have a pleasant time in your lab, Papa.”

Please go away already.

“Thank you.”

He left, slamming the door closed, only to open it again after three seconds.

“Oh, and just so you know. That Noreen girl? I paid her to befriend you. That’s all, goodbye.”

Once upon a millionth time, my heart shattered.

Noreen. A fraud.

I mean, there were times when I suspected that she was feigning a sweet personality, but again, I was driven by her kindness. I trusted her . . . Until now.

I cursed, pissed. I got off the bed, grabbed my phone, and scrolled through my contacts.

Noreen. That bitch.

I thought my rage would come down after deleting everything she ever sent me and blocking her, but it didn’t. In fact, I was twice as mad. I unblocked her again.

Fed up, I grabbed my white cane and left the damn house.