I pondered Dativa's confession.
I wondered if it's true. That the McQuinns were dangerous. It was sort of an obvious thing but still; I felt the need to confirm.
I had a lot of things going on around my head. My conversation with Phoebe and, most especially, the fact that I shouldn't even be conversing with her.
Her question was still stuck in my head: Was I the one who saved her that night in the alleyway?
I was in loss for words.
I didn't know what to say. I could tell her the truth but . . . if she could pinpoint who I was as easy as that, then she could definitely tell the movements and voices she was hearing weren't normal. Would I have to tell her that I have snakes for hair and half of my body was actually a snake, too? That I had scales, crawled on my belly, and worse, I killed those men with the gaze from my eyes?
I was the monster from ancient history that men fought to kill and thereafter, sought my head for the sake of earning glory and power.
Monster. Demon. Killer.
Three words that described who I was. And if it wasn't because she had no sense of sight, Phoebe would be dead, too. Just like those men in the alleyway.
For a normal person, that was too much information to handle. Not to mention, who would believe such a thing? It sounded like an episode from Supernatural. Better left unsaid if I really cared for my own good.
But then I got sick of making assumptions about the girl's identity, so I got up from my bunk and went straight to the kitchen where Mama was.
I helped her with lunch and kept my mouth shut until we were both sitting and about to take out first bites of the rice and fish we prepared together.
"Mama." I held my spoon tighter than usual. "The girl you're taking care of . . . how is she like?"
Her facial expression portrayed how much my question caught her off guard, much to my dismay. Her movements slowed as she moved her own spoon over her plate and dug in. I kept a straight face, as if I had brought up a regular topic that we talked about every day.
"What do you mean? Is there something about her that you wish to know?"
I fidgeted, unsure how to put it or whether to lie or to be honest. Nothing felt right.
"Nothing, I just met a blind person yesterday, and I remembered that you once mentioned that Phoebe is blind. Just wondering how to communicate with someone with such disabilities. I find it hard."
Mom took in my words, taking a sip of her juice.
"I didn't even think you paid attention to her name when I talked about her."
She didn't even turn when she said that, her eyes fixed on her plate.
Was it important that I knew her name? Maybe I shouldn't have mentioned her name like that. Like I knew her.
Mama looked at me up and down, suspicious as to what the hell I was doing trying to know the details of her boss' daughter. She had made it very clear years ago, right on that day after that fiasco in McQuinn's mansion, that I should never ever dare step into her work stuff, not even to lay a finger, or even think to do so. It was a restriction to breathe the same air as my mom's workplace, a.k.a McQuinn's mansion. That place was taboo. So was Phoebe.
But . . . was it wrong when she looked like that? How could I keep my hands to myself when she made my heart freeze by the mere sight of her dead eyes?
"Please don't take it too seriously, I was just wondering that's all," I kept my eyes down too, afraid to see the expression on my mother's face. "No ulterior motives."
Mom sighed before speaking again.
"It's hard, honestly," she let out. "but everything feels effortless when you do it for someone you love, Avery. If I wanted to give up on her, I would've done so eons ago. But like I always say, she's like a daughter to me. Everything I do for her is out of pure love. And if it takes a lot to communicate with her, then I would take lots. I don't care about the price. She deserves more, and there's no one to give her that. Being different doesn't make someone bad, but it makes them special. And I believe whatever makes someone special is their super power. It's their most prominent feature. A blessing."
I couldn't believe my mother had said all those words in one go. I wished I had been taking notes.
"That's . . . beautiful."
Phoebe's face crossed my mind, and I smiled.
She was so beautiful; I didn't know what to do about it. I felt like taking her out into a deserted meadow and take polaroid pictures of her all day until the sun went to sleep.
"You wanna know how to communicate with a disabled someone? Just use love. It's the best way to send a message."
"If I knew you'd get this sweet with the answer, then I would've asked that question way more early." I chuckled a bit.
"Well, you shouldn't be scared to ask me anything. I'm your mother." she shrugged.
I wouldn't be scared if she didn't intimidate me so much.
"I think I needed to hear that."
We both devoured our food, a comfortable kind of calmness hanging in the air.
Then she stopped eating.
I looked at her.
"The McQuinns aren't your kind of people, Avery," she marked. Shit, here we go. "I would appreciate it if you stay away from them and keep us out of trouble. That's all I'm ever going to ask of you."
The air had shifted and her words didn't fail to remind me of a stupid mistake I made years ago. The promise I broke.
Once again, I was inside a mysterious place I stumbled into and the black box that turned me into the monster I was now set before me. It hurt to think about, let alone relive it in my head and get reminded of my mother's pain. It was like she was now rubbing the repercussions on my face, as if I could even forget the torture I had gotten myself into. A lifetime of torture.
Why were some mistakes incapable of being corrected? Why were some curses irreversible? I needed out. I needed to breathe.
I didn't feel the tears welling up in my eyes until mother's chair creaked over the floor when she pushed it back, getting up from her seat.
Her plate was empty. Mine wasn't.
"I'm gonna go take a little rest now. I have a shift in the evening."
With that, she dumped her plate into the sink and left for the bedroom.
I remained frozen in my chair. My heart beating like it hadn't been doing the same thing all my life. Like it was trying to find a way to walk out of the room too.
I couldn't even understand why was my mother obsessed in keeping that man humor—Mr. McQuinn. Why did she even have to work for that brute? It was obvious he was mistreating her. Couldn't she just get a job somewhere else?
Was I allowed to ask her those kinds of questions? Or were they also taboo?
Did that room . . . that laboratory still exist?
Was it holding the answers to my predicament? They say where the problem comes from was where the cure was.
Was the cure to my curse lingering in that peculiar black box?
The McQuinns aren't your kind of people, Avery. I would appreciate it if you stayed away from them and keep us out of trouble. That's all I'm ever going to ask from you.
Her words reminded me of the disappointment painted on her face that day. The way it broke her apart that I hadn't done as I promised. I didn't want her to feel that way. I never wanted her to feel that way ever again. I just wanted her to be happy.
And I couldn't say no to her.
I wanted her happy at all times, after all. So I silently agreed, sacrificing my curiosity once again just to make my mother satisfied. Maybe choosing her satisfaction over mine was the cure for my curse.
Was she going to communicate with me with love when she discovers what I was?
Was her workplace more important than I was? No matter what she said, there were things I still wasn't allowed to ask.
And if she couldn't give me answers, I could find them by myself.
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