The next week Mum tells me that we are leaving the continent.
Leaving Dad. Going away without Dad. I want to protest. I want to dig deeper, but Mum sounds so determined. I want to confront him. I haven't spoken to him since the hospital and it's eating me alive. He's still my father. How can I possibly just make all these assumptions and judgements without knowing his side of the story?
But Mum wants me to. She wants me to pack my things and be prepared because we are leaving. I'm not sure if Dad knows about this or if Mum has even discussed this with him.
What I don't understand is how she can simply leave everything, believing the words that came out of her damaged, ex-coma patient daughter who doesn't know if she's paranoid yet or not. Believing the words. Words that can be made up, or unconsciously induced by your brain. Words that can be deliberately put inside your brain. Mum didn't see anything. Neither did I. But despite knowing that I suspect him, Dad isn't rushing in to explain and deny the whole thing.
Our house has never been this quite before. It's not just an elephant in the room. The elephant's parents, siblings and friends are all in the room. There's barely any space for air or words.
I lounge on the sofa, flipping through the channels on the telly and enjoying the silence. Silence implies that no one is screaming. When people aren't screaming, it is because they are not in pain.
Or maybe I'm just putting words inside my brain.
"What are you watching?" Milan settles down on the floor in front of me.
I stop pressing the button on the remote control when he says that. Unfortunately, it stops on a news channel. I'm afraid that I might see my face along with words such as "Deputy Commissioner's daughter recently kidnapped" or a newsreader saying things like "If the Deputy Commissioner's daughter is kidnapped TWICE but the kidnapper hasn't been found yet after so many years, imagine what could happen to your daughters."
"Apparently news." I don't want Milan to think that I'm running away from news channels.
Milan leans his head against the sofa and turns to look at me. "You know where we're going right?"
"Yes," I stare straight at the telly.
"So you know that there's still the possibility of Cha-"
"That possibility died." I cut him off.
Milan just looks at me.
"Why are we going to the States anyway? There are many other better countries in the world."
"Well," Milan smiles. "Mum still thinks that there's a possibility."
"What makes her think that?" I snort.
"You have to give him another chance, Meira. Mum wants you to be happy. And she thinks you were happy when Chase was around. We won't be moving there permanently, you know that, but she's doing it for you."
Just thinking about Chase brings up all sorts of bottled up, distorted emotions. I was happy when I was with him, even if it was for an incredibly short time. The last I remember seeing him was near a park bench. I don't remember what we were talking about, but I remember that he was holding my hand and it was warm. The last time I remember hearing his voice was when he was begging me not to die. But later on he learned that I didn't die and that I came out of my coma. Why didn't he bother contacting me in anyway? He gave me nothing. He just left. Just like that. And it's been almost two months but still nothing.
The only thing I can come up is with that I was too much. I was too much unnecessary drama in his life. Being with me would mean that he would also be in danger. Maybe he realised that sooner than I'd hoped. I'm not blaming him. He's smart. I'm relieved that he realised that. Just a goodbye would have been comforting though.
"Why should I?"
"Don't you want to find out how it will feel to be with him? Just give him another go. I know he wants you back. He's just across an ocean, unable to come here."
"What do you mean 'you know' he wants me back? Did you talk to him?" My voice rises an octave in surprise.
Milan looks away from me.
"Brilliant." And I'd thought Chase couldn't be any meaner. "He talked to you, but not me."
"Well, he is my best friend, way before you met him." Milan points out smugly, but stops after seeing the look on my face. "I don't know okay." He sighs. "I really don't want to discuss your relationship with Chase. It's unsettling. You can see him in a few days and sort it out all in person."
"No thank you."
"Come now, don't take your anger out on him. Maybe he just freaked out after...everything that happened."
"And you want me to be with someone who is scared of being with me?"
"Shut up Meira." He snaps. His demeanour changes entirely. "Do you know how desperately he wanted to come along after you when they took you? He called me right away. We tried tracking you on our own but it was entirely fruitless. I called Dad and he arranged everything. Chase wasn't supposed to come. It was just going to be the police and me who were going to come get you. But he insisted so much. They let him tag along, eventually. So don't tell me he's scared or that he doesn't care. You don't know that."
I can't find words to say for a few moments. The intensity with which Milan speaks about Chase makes me realise just how deep their bond goes.
Chase wanted to rescue me. And he did along with all the other police.
"Alright." So many emotions. So much detail. So much I don't know. It's exhausting to pretend like those things don't affect me. "Why are we going to the same city as him?"
"I told you. Mum thinks you guys together is a possibility."
"You can't be serious." I gasp.
"I can be and I am."
"Please." I scoff. "My own mother is moving us to another continent so that I can fix things with my ex-boyfriend?"
"Pretty much." He takes the remote control from my hands and searches for something to watch.
Unreal.
*
I gaze longingly at my empty room and the sky outside the window. The same sky that has been the subject of many of my photographs. I swallow a non-existent ball of desolation and wonder for the nth time why everything is so unfair.
The only answer I get instantly is the cliché but true one : life is unfair. There's literally nothing you can do except deal with it.
I pick up my crutches and the lighter duffel bag - since Milan carried all my heavier bags for me because he knew it would still hurt my muscles - and leave the door to the room open. I will be back once the truth of the chaos in my life has been discovered and exploited.
Downstairs, Dad stands at door and stares longingly at Mum as she walks away. Milan, carrying a bottle of water, nods at Dad as he walks out.
What the bloody hell was that?
That's the sort of nod you give someone when you both have a mutual understanding of something. Something is up. Milan could be lying to me.
I don't even know who to trust anymore.
I hop to the bottom of the stairs and stop. Dad looks at me and smiles.
I don't return it.
I simply stand there, breathing heavily, unable to deal.
I say, "Why aren't you fighting?" I take a step forward, the soft thud of the crutches hitting the carpet being the only sound. "Why aren't you stopping us? Do you even love us?" I fight hard to keep the tears inside my eyeballs.
This man that I loved a month ago stands in front of me, looking defeated. This man that I thought was the best father I could possibly have is now someone I don't even know. This man that I no longer trust because of a simple combination of words that rolled in and wreaked havoc in our lives. All the football matches that we watched together seems like a lie. The vanilla cakes that he used to bake especially for me during the weekends seem like a façade now.
He immediately shakes his head and takes a step forward. His expression guarantees that I am about to get an explanation.
"No Meira." He takes a deep breath. "I love all of you. More than anything and everything. I am doing this because..." He looks at the door at Mum. "Because he's right. Bansik is right. I did take his son away from him."
There's just something so earth-shattering about your own father telling you that he killed someone else's baby.
My ears go numb.
My hands shake as if they can press a rewind button and make him say something else.
Dad comes forward and engulfs me inside his arms. The warmth of his jumper is not helping my nerves. Especially when he admitted that he killed a baby.
"In a way I'm glad you found out. I am sorry. I never would have told you. Ever." He kisses the top of my head affectionately. "I am sorry you had to pay the price for my mistake. I never knew Bansik was capable of such malevolence. I am so sorry Meira. You cannot imagine the remorse that I'm living with." Something wet drips through my scalp. I can no longer hold it in. The tears fall. Slowly and silently.
This might be the last time I may ever see this man that regrets killing a baby boy.
He leans down and kisses my forehead. "You must go now, Meira. If I could take all the pain that you went through, I would. Thousandfold."
"Dad.." I hold onto his waist tightly. "No,"
"I promise you will see me again. I will never let anything happen to my family." He smiles and pulls away from me. "Things will come to light soon and I just hope you find it in yourself to forgive me."
Then he says something that completely negates all the things he just said. "If I could kill Bansik right now, I would. I would kill in him in a heartbeat."
How can a man who expressed an abundance of affection not moments ago now speak about killing a man like it's an okay thing to do.
"What are you not telling me?" I stare at him accusingly, wiping the tears away, though they still blur my vision.
"I can't do this." He gently pushes me out the door. "I'm sorry, Meira."
My head spins faster than the earth.
Nothing works. Not right now.
Not my legs. Not my hands. Not my brain. Not my ears. Not my eyes. Not my fingers.
Except words.
Words work.
The words he said work their way inside my brain and squeeze the truth out of them.