The Dancers ©

ᴥFruitionᴥ

            “Girls,” replies Dad when we open the front door to the house. I am the first one to walk into the home and also the only one brave enough to stand within inches of him instead of feet. I stare at him long and hard, and bore my eyes into his. Sometimes I hate myself because I share those eyes, and none of my other sisters do. Instead, they pick up the eyes of their mothers’. Not the eyes of a monster. “I have some news.” His smile is cold and lifeless as he says, “Tomorrow evening, we will be dining with a guest.”

            I shiver to think of what guest we will be having. Most of the guests are Dad’s friend who all happen to be clueless that Dad abuses me and frightens his daughters. Believe me; I tried to instigate an argument with Dad when I was younger in front of his friends. And all it got me was another beating after his friends left.

            “Who is the guest?” asks Emerald as she stands to the right of me, but a foot away from Dad.

            “The guest will be Mayor Helen Thompson and her twelve sons.” Even though I don’t show it, I am a bit thrown. I can’t imagine someone as lovely and young as Mayor Helen Thompson to have sons, and twelve of them!

            Amber coughs as she croaks out, “Twelve?”

            Dad’s smile gets wider as he replies, “Yes. Twelve sons, and they’re all around your age. Formerly, they were homeschooled, but the Mayor told me she enrolled them in each of your schools.”

            And he decides to tell us now? “Well, I guess everyone will be on their best behavior and that includes you,” I reply out of anger. However as Dad slams me against the wall close to the entrance door, I immediately regret my decision.

            “Go upstairs to your room,” whispers Dad to me. “I’ll make sure that your sisters follow you on the way up.”

            “You know what Dad,” I say, waiting for him to respond to me.

            “What.”

            “Go to hell, because there is no way I am going upstairs alone,” I whisper in his ear. And that is when I’m on the ground because he pushes me to floor and kick and kicks and kicks. Thud. Thud. Thud. Wow. He even pulled out his steel toed archeologist boots for the occasion. Isn’t that special?

            I close my eyes, waiting for him to aim for the back of my head like he usually does when he chooses kicking me as torture. Finally, my head vibrates as he kicks the back of it. I suppress a groan as I get up slowly just in time to see him shove past my sisters and leave the house.

            Maybe he’ll get wasted at some bar and be somebody else’s problem. A girl can dream right? “Is everyone okay?” I ask as I slowly sit up from the floor.

            “We should be asking you that,” replies Agate as she pulls me up and drapes my arm over her shoulder. I limp a little as she leads me to the couch. “I hope he didn’t give you a concussion like last time.”

            “He probably did, but I’ll be all right. I’ve sprung from one concussion and I’ll spring again.” Agate shushes me as she first examines the bruises on my legs.

            She ignores the bruises which have yellowed and greened with age. Instead, she focuses on the purple, pink, and red colored ones. Pressing lightly her thumb to those particular bruises as she asks me, “How bad does it hurt?”

            “A little, but because Dad had his steel toed boots this time,” I reply. One of the little ones cries out after I say this. “Ruby, bring the others upstairs and tell them another bedtime story. Agate and I will be up soon and before Dad comes home. Don’t worry about us.” Ruby nods and silently ushers the little ones up the staircase.

            When I hear the large oak door of our room close, I rest my back on the couch cushion. Something I don’t really have the opportunity to do when Dad is around.        

            “I’m going to make some ice for this,” replies Agate. I nod and hear her go away. I feel tempted to close my eyes and drift off to sleep, but if I do have a concussion…I might end up in a coma or worse. At least, according to what Agate says. So I blink once:

            Thud. Thud. Thud.

            I blink twice:

            Thud. Thud. Thud.

            I blink thrice:

            Thud. Thud. Thud.

            “Diamond?”

            “Hmm?” I ask Agate as I swivel my head towards her direction. She puts the ice against my head as I ask her, “So, how did you make the ice this time?”

            “I got two cubes from the freezer and wrapped them in a napkin.” I was about to get up when Agate presses me gently against the couch cushion as she adds, “Don’t worry. I remembered to add water to the two empty ice cube slots. Hopefully Dad won’t have another outburst till a couple of days.”

            “Hissy fit is more like it,” I mumble. When I notice how uncomfortable Agate looks talking about the most recent beating, I change the subject. “So, at least Madame Miri likes our idea of the Grimm Story.”

            Agate laughs as she replies, “When you agreed when the limo picked us up from school, I was thrilled. I think the fact each of us gets to play a princess is kind of a nice break from…” she looks up at the beautifully tall and faraway ornate ceiling of the living room as she adds, “from this.”

            “I couldn’t agree with you more on that,” I say with a smile, despite the slight dull pain at the back of my head.

            “Plus, I think it would be nice to see the twelve boys again huh?” she asks calmly as she removes the ice away from my head and starts lightly pressing on my leg bruises.

            “Yes. Those guys are okay, I guess.”

            Agate is quiet for a couple of moments before she asks me, “Why don’t you like the twelve boys?”

            “What?”

            “Why don’t you like the twelve boys?” she asks again, clearer this time. I look down at my shoes as I think of an answer.

            “I do like them, Agate. I’m just cautious that’s all. Consider me…I’ve never had a good experience with male figures and I don’t want any of you to have a bad one,” I reply. She bites her lip for a moment before she responds.

            “Doesn’t hurt to be cautious, but…I know from what I’ve seen throughout my eleven years… you’re not afraid of confrontation,” she replies.

            Leaning towards her I whisper, “Want to know a secret Agate?” She nods. “And you can’t tell this to anyone else, understand?” She nods again.

            “Confrontations are a pain.” She lightly laughs as I laugh too. Until, I feel a sharp pain on my stomach. I rest my hand on my stomach as I ask her, “Want to see if there are any bruises under here?”

            Agate dutifully says, “Yes, I will.” She slowly lifts up my shirt and gasps.

            “Bad?”

            All that Agate is able to say to my question is, “We will definitely need some more ice cubes.”