Newborn

PART FIVE

I noticed that this memory took place in the blink of an eye, even if it felt as though I was trapped in it forever. Troy still had a firm grip on my arm; his filthy nails dug into my skin. I might be like my mother, I thought, but he was behaving like my father, and that was much, much worse. My breathing was shallow, and I didn't even blink as I spat in his face. Admittedly, I don't think I was really spitting at Troy; I was spitting at my father. For a moment, I couldn't tell the difference between the two.

Troy's jaw tightened as he wiped my spit from his face. Then, in one quick movement, he balled his fist and it flew toward my cheek. All I noticed was his fist coming toward my face, and then the off-coloured white-yellow roof.

He had hit me, I gasped. Troy had hit me.

I landed on a cluster of dirty clothes and refused to allow any tears to fall as my eyes watered from shock. For once, I was actually grateful that the house was messy because the clothes provided the cushioning I needed to soften the blow. It was hard to sift through the mess in my mind, but as I lay on the floor I noticed Troy's posture was still tight. He almost looked like he might hit me again.

Then, realization flooded over his face.

"Oh, God!" Troy rushed over to my side, his eyes teary as he forcefully cradled me in his broad, tattoo-covered arms. "I'm so sorry, baby. I'm so sorry! I don't know what came over me. I just lost my temper."

I still refused to cry. Instead, I just touched my cheek in the spot where he had struck me. It still stung from his hit, but it didn't seem to be bleeding. As he held me, I just stayed there, lifeless. I wasn't even shaking. I just lay in his arms, perfectly still, while my mind tried to wrap itself around the fact that I had just been punched in the face by someone that claimed to love me.

After a few minutes had passed, I took control of my body again. I pushed him away from me, as forcefully as I could manage with my now trembling hands. He barely budged, so I squirmed away and got back to my feet.

"Don't lay a hand on me ever again," I warned him through slitted eyes, and then made my way toward the bathroom. "And get off the drugs!"

I slammed the door behind me.

*****

The next day I woke up on the bathroom floor. I was curled up in a ball next to the toilet, which had chunks of vomit strewn over the white, chipped bowl. I groaned as I stumbled to my knees, using my hand to wipe my mouth and flush the toilet. Sitting next to me was half a bottle of liquor, followed by a now-empty packet of cigarettes.

My head thudded uncontrollably. It was as if there was a live band playing very bad music inside my skull. I couldn't remember much of last night, which I guessed was thanks to the half-empty bottle of spirits. But from the broken fragments that I could remember, I was certain that I had spent some of Reed's charity money on items I didn't necessarily need.

Regardless of my hangover, I started my morning like any other. I had a large bowl of dry cereal for breakfast because we were out of milk, and then followed a short, ice-cold shower. We were late on our bill payments, so most things were disconnected.

After my shower, I did my makeup in the bathroom mirror. I grimaced the second I caught sight of my reflection. My cheek didn't bruise in the way I had expected. The skin around my eye was red and puffy, and a purple ring lined the space underneath. I winced when I touched my cheek to apply the concealer. No matter how much I put on, the purple ring was still evident. Luckily, my sunglasses covered it.

Once I was ready, I brushed the knots out of my long, dark hair, and then I hastily crept toward the front door. Troy was still asleep on the dirty, brown pull out lounge as I left. He was in a similar state to how I woke up; completely surrounded by cigarette butts and empty bottles of beer. I guessed that he felt bad about what had happened last night, but that didn't make everything miraculously okay again. As I left I tried not to wake him. Not that any sound would matter, really. The guy could sleep through a fire alarm. And I didn't doubt that once he woke up, he would just laze around all day, feeling sorry for himself, and getting high—as per usual.