CHARACTER VIEWS DO NOT REPRESENT MY OWN. Please be civil in the comment section.
The trip back started off quiet. I felt like a little girl's rag doll: dragged by my hair, thrown between feelings of artic cold fear and dizzying helplessness, torn, beaten, bruised, split down the middle. My limbs were made of wool and my stitched smile was becoming undone, each thread becoming looser and looser, plucked apart my invisible grubby fingers, broken. I did a couple of breathing exercises, in out in out in out, faster and faster, my head packed with images of dad staring at me and finding me, that familiar chase, and I was running again this time from memories that chased after the car, wiggled their way in from the open window.
Early morning, bright yellow circle in the sky, calm blue day. High spirits, skipping down the stairs, it was my birthday, ninth, joyful, expectant, hopeful. The night was a blur of royal deep blue, on and on it went, until the brr brr brr of the alarm clock, wake up. My eyes stung, I spent the night praying, Dear Jesus, Please Let Mum Send Me A Birthday Card. Dear Jesus, The Postman Is Coming, Please Tell Him To Bring Me Mum's Letter. Dear Jesus... I chatted on through the night, my hands stuck together, sweaty, eyes squeezed shut, wishing, wishing, wishing, fighting off sleep.
The memory was on repeat: Young me running down the stairs, getting to the last step, and then the images jerkily rewinding, back to the top of the stairs, running down the stairs. Again and again. Hiding nineteen year old me from nine year old me, I pushed forward but I hit a murky wall, a NO ENTRY sign hanging, an invisible block.
I smelt something metallic. My arm was wet. Heavy and wet. A ghost feeling. I shouted. "Stop the car!" and rushed out.
Vomit splattered the road, wet and sparse, and I coughed, dry spit hanging from my chin. I searched the glove box for tissues, anything to rinse my mouth with and found condoms, insurance papers, a packet of mints, a comb but no scrap of tissue or water. Cole got out of the car and I heard him opening the boot, rummaging about as if there was an entire attic full of crap back there, and then he came around my side of the car. "Here." He passed along a lukewarm bottle of water and one of those cute packet of tissues that you shove in your purse and forget it's there. Gratefully accepting and bashfully embarrassed, I quickly cleaned myself, gargling out my mouth and wiping my chin. I tossed the bottle and tissues in a litterbin, there was nothing I could do about my sick, some poor street cleaner would have to clean it up or an angry homeowner. We returned to the road, and I knew I would have to explain myself, Cole was seconds away from demanding what the hell was wrong with me, I could see it in his face. "I must've ate something bad." I said.
"Hmm." He grunted lowly. The lie was rejected: I realised I had actually not ate all day and I was craving food. I should've been repulsed by the notion of food but my stomach was empty, and adding my fatigue to my state did me no favours, I could swallow a bakery. Maybe a cheesy hamburger with a handful of crispy onions and chilli sauce. I wouldn't say no to a carton of milk, neither.
He pulled up to a greasy diner ten minutes later. Next door was a lonely sandwich place. He didn't say anything or wait for me, heading into the diner and I followed him in, I should've been feeling queasy from the smell of frying meat and sizzling fries but I welcomed it: sniffing deeply, appreciatively. Behind the counter was a fat blonde, her cheeks were glowing red and she squinted at us unsurely, her eyes darting to the backroom, wondering if she'd make it alive if Cole pulled out a gun on her and shot her point blank in the face. "How can I help you?" she said. Some old 2000 pop song played behind her on a shitty grey CD player.
"I'll take a number three and a beer. What do you want?" Cole asked.
I copied his order, it was late afternoon and many of the items had been crossed out, and I didn't fancy fried mushroom pie or lumpy yellow curry and burnt naan. I sidled into a booth, the stinging red seats looked like they'd been pecked by crows and the matching table was somewhat sticky. Some bratty kid must've upended his can of Sprite after his tired father refused to give him the 'grown-up' knife and fork–at least that's what I imagined to have happened. Cole stared around the diner and his gaze swept outside, alert and always ready to jump to his toes. For lack of a better thing to do, I shook the salt and pepper shakers, they were almost empty and the white and grey grains swished to each end of the shakers. Silence and avoided gazes followed.
A fat Jewish man set our food and drinks down on our table, he wore a black kippah, his hairline disappearing. "Anything else you kids want?" his eyes crinkled as he smiled, overcompensating, the blonde woman stood behind the counter, her sour stare fixed on Cole.
"We're fine, thanks." I quickly said, Cole looked like he had a few choice words for the blonde if his threatening glare was anything to go by. The fries were greasy and salty and the burger was pretty good. Cole didn't seem to think so, he picked apart his food, grossed out, and then settled on drinking his beer.
"Does your dad abuse you?"
"What?" I choked, spluttered, defended. "No! Of course not."
"Bullshit. You freaked out when you saw him, Daniel is the same when it comes to his uncle, I can help you."
"I appreciate it, Cole. But honestly I'm good."
He demanded, "Tell me. Stop lying."
"Dad is a bully but he's never raised a hand to me."
"How about sexually?"
"No. No, for God sake, he hasn't."
"You're not scared he'll do the same to your brother?"
"He hasn't – he's not what you think, Cole. He's not a rapist, he doesn't use us as a punching bag, he's not abusive in any way. Anyway, I'd kill him if he hurt Seth."
"I can pass on an anonymous tip, get him arrested, you can get your brother back."
"Go to the police? That's very unlike you."
"Well, he's not exactly the safest person to be around. You don't wake up tomorrow and start killing people. If he's going through a psychotic break or whatever it is white media calls white murderers, your brother won't be safe with him."
"What's your body count?"
"Don't make this about me."
"He'll be safe."
"You sure?"
"Yes." I stopped eating, my hands shook, I pulled them in my lap, hiding them from his inquiring gaze. I tried to extinguish my fear but it burned brighter, the flames licking away my resolve, and uncertainty slipped in its place.
***
Jade did not text nor did she call me since we had our argument. I was sort of disappointed: I wanted her to be the first to apologise. I said some horrible things to her but she's joked about being 'blissfully childless' before–her words. I didn't expect her to hold a grudge against me. And it hurt, she must know by now that I knew she knew where Seth was and chose to keep me in the dark. That was a shit move on her part. Even if Dad swore her to secrecy, we could've made our own pinkie promise and at least that way I wouldn't have wasted my days searching for Seth and getting premature grey hairs. Doubt crept in my thoughts, whispering about trust before slithering away in the dark. I wouldn't have tattled to the police about my own father. It wasn't out of loyalty for him, Seth wouldn't forgive me if I helped get our father into prison for life. It was a shitty situation and deciding to be the bigger person, I subdued my pride for the day and headed over to the tattoo shop, parking outside. I must've sat rigidly in my seat for five minutes, trying to talk myself into ignoring my anxiety and walking into the shop. Jade would welcome me back with open arms, I was sure of it.
She didn't hate me.
I jumped out of the Shogun, taking a cold deep breath and marching in. Dylan was behind the counter and he said surprised, "Oh, hey. Where've you been hiding?"
"Been busy. Have you seen Jade?"
"Upstairs. I think she's taking a bath. Anything I can help you with?"
I assured him I was fine and went upstairs, the steps whining under my feet. Jade was dry and lounging on the sofa, remote in her hand, eyes half closed, watching her trashy reality show. I cleared my throat to grab her attention and she raised her gaze, her mouth dropped, clearly not expecting me. "Shay?"
"Jade." I said awkwardly, going over my apology in my head, rehearsing it one last time and getting ready to deliver. Jade put a stop to my theatrics, rudely demanding what I wanted. I blinked, "Uh, I was just–"
"If you're here for your clothes, I already tossed them to James."
I didn't expect that. I was dragged to a stop before I even got onto the stage. "My clothes?" I repeated dumbly and then got red-faced offended, "Christ, I bet you couldn't wait to get rid of me. What was it, a day or two? Seth and I must've been a terrible burden on you, you poor thing. Is that why he's playing sleepovers with Dad?"
She bounded off the sofa, and for a second I thought she was going to attack me, her face was puffy and her lips were dry and cracked and she stabbed me in the chest with a bony finger. "Keep your voice down, you brat! Don't go announcing it to the world. And what do you think you're playing at, huh? Taking your boyfriend to go see your father, he's not some prize you can show off."
"He's more of a freak show rather than a trophy," I corrected, drawing some satisfaction from the hateful glare she gave me, "and next time I'll send a news reporter round instead. You'll be front page with him, imagine that. Stardom. Isn't that what you always wished for?"
"You wouldn't dare!"
"You're an accomplice, guilty as him in the eyes of the law, hiding a murderer, tsk tsk. I'll be sure to frame your mugshot." I wasn't serious but I wasn't going to put my hands up and take back my words.
"That's your father, the man who raised you who you're talking about. I'll be dead before I let you hurt him." She clawed and I jerked back and she pawed the air.
I sneered at her. "If you hit me I'll break your fúcking neck." I stole the threat from Cole. I wanted to stop, I really did, the guilt was already setting in but I was mad. I was furious and hateful. I thought Jade would want me but she'd tossed me to the curb and I was tired of being the sorry dog everyone kicked. "Seth shouldn't be near him. If he's not back by tomorrow I'm going to go to the police." Another lie.
She paled, begging, pleading. "Be reasonable, Shay. For Christ sake, you're being ridiculous. I know you miss him and you're lashing out at me because you feel hopeless but soon enough, you'll be back under the same roof as him, the three of you again."
"Right. You've got a fairy godmother hidden around here somewhere? He's a wanted man." The thought of living with him again was unbearable. Jade was so clueless.
"He has a plan to get away, out of the country, someplace safe. I wasn't supposed to tell you, it's a surprise, he's arranging it for the end of this month."
"Are you out of your mind? He's wanted for murder. Murder. He's going to drag his kids to some delusional beach holiday and then what? What is he going to do? Get a caravan and drive to Mexico? He's risking our lives because he fúcked up his. No way. No fúcking way. I'm not playing into this stupid sick fantasy he has."
"You don't understand. You're just a child. He's going to call tomorrow you can speak to him then. Maybe you can go out and join him and Seth but no more boyfriends. You need to keep it a secret."
Exasperated, I yelled. "What fúcking language am I speaking? Why are you not comprehending what I am saying? This plan he has, it's not happening, I don't want to see him."
"Of course you do! He forgives you for going on that stupid trip with your friends and he'll forgive you for going out to see him. You must've been worried sick and tired for him. I'll explain it to him, make sure he understands it was a silly mistake."
"Oh, my fúcking god."
"You can stay here, I'll get your things back from James. What do you say?"
"You're not listening to me." I said frustrated, "I don't want to see him. I went out there to see Seth. If Dad comes near me I'm going to call Chief Michaels."
"You won't, he's your father–"
I made a desperate noise of irritation and anger, running out and ignoring her calls for me to come back.
***
It was seven in the evening and Daniel and I had successfully gotten drunk. He had a stash of drinks stored at the bottom of his wardrobe and I picked out a half empty bottle of bourdon. I drank it on the rocks while he chose to drink his neat, no ice, grinning like a champ afterwards, and refilling his glass. The first twenty minutes were yellow-happy, smiling sloppily at each other, room spinning like we were on a carousal at the carnival, the overhead light shifting between darken colours of the rainbow, all we were missing was scratchy funfair music and a couple of clowns. It wasn't long until the mood took a swift turn for the worse, the lights became blinding and harsh, Daniel hung his head and arms out of the window, and he groaned. "Oh, fúck me." There was a quiet crash as his glass exploded against the pavement. I sat cross-legged on the floor, humming softly, feeling like a child in the classroom, staring across the room at my reflection. My hair was nut brown, a steady boring brown, falling just under my breasts. At that moment I hated the sight. Really fúcking hated it. It made me depressed. I clambered to my feet, my head feeling too heavy like I had a brick for a head. I must've knocked over my glass at some point, my bare foot slipped and slid across the floor and I tried to hold onto the air before I got my bearings, pulling the duvet on to the floor so I could walk across safely. I felt like I was in a circus, on a tightrope in front of millions of malicious clowns, trying to not fall to my death.
I left the room and got to the bathroom, shutting the door softly. I opened the bathroom cabinet, the shaving cream and deodorant and hair products were all arranged tidily, Daniel was neat for a boy. I picked up the scissors, they felt like giant gardening shears, and without a second thought, snipped my way through my hair. My head felt less heavy once I was done. I opened the bin and threw the scraps away, they fluttered down prettily. And then I got out the razor, it buzzed loudly, the vibrations making my hand feel funny. Shaving was weird.
Someone jiggled the handle of the door. "It's occupied!" I yelled. Too late.
Cole stood there, staring in contained amazement and perplexity and then he rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Why do you never cease to surprise me?"
"I look like Vin Diesel."
"You've made a mess."
"This room is spotless."
"Are you blind? You've clogged the sink, there's a lump of hair on the bath, and look at the floor. Daniel is an OCD freak, he hyperventilates when there's dust. If he walks in now, he'll have one of his episodes."
"Put on a maid's outfit and clean up."
"I don't know why I'm going to do this. Sit." Cole pushed my shoulder down until my butt met the toilet seat, he snatched the razor out of my hand, glaring. "You have a rat tail, you know that? And what's with this small bunch of hair here?" he tugged the ponytail above my ear.
"You're so fúcking handsy, leave off."
He grabbed my head still, bending down to make eye contact and said, "You look like a god damn joke. You wanna walk out of here and make a fool of yourself in front of everyone? Be my guest otherwise stay the fúck still."
I grumbled to myself, my eyes level to his crotch as he finished the job, taking his sweet time to shave the rest of my hair off, his hands brushed my head and he complimented, "You're lucky you have a nice shaped head otherwise this would've been the worst mistake of your life – at least for the next couple of months."
"Stop fondling me and hurry up."
"How much did you drink? I can smell your breath from here."
"I took like, a sip."
"Sure you did, dipshit."
"I will punch you in the dick if you're not careful."
"I'll drown you in the fúcking bath if you touch me."
"Charming."
He grunted, took a few more swipes at my head with the razor and then stepped back, looking satisfied. "You look good." I stood up, turning my head side to side in the reflection and then agreed: looks good. "Take a shower."
"Are you going to join me?"
He tried brushing a stray hair from his chest, my hair, failed, and glared at me, "No, shut up. Get out of those clothes and clean yourself."
"Why are you angry?"
"Because you're a drunk mess–" he stared down at my hand as I plucked the hair from his shirt, letting my hand linger for a few seconds too long, and he batted my hand away, uncomfortable, and irritated, he tried saying more, probably a defensive fuck you, but he stopped, control himself, shook his head and left the bathroom.
I ended up taking a shower alone, in disappointment and scalding hot water.
It was 4 a.m., the front door opened, Irvin quietly slipped in, his footsteps almost silent, shuffling like an old, weary man, exhausted of life. I should've shouted out, warned him, he was unaware of the shit storm waiting for him; the cross men with guns in waistline of their jeans, hot and choleric faces staring him down, tired bodies that spent the day searching for him, and the alpha of the pack with clenched fingers, sitting rigidly in the armchair, his stare unnerving and his jaw unhinging, barking: "Where have you been!?"
Irvin was a guilty man, caught at the scene of the crime, about to be convicted with a bias jury jeering at him from the jury box, the judge ready to lock him up and throw away the key. "Shit, man. What is this, the death squad? I'm not a little boy. You don't need to stay up and wait for me to get back."
"You didn't answer the question." Cole wasn't about to let this go.
"I was out, busy, with my grandma. We had a day out together."
"That's interesting, I sent someone round, your grandma hasn't heard from you all day."
"Why did you need to check up on me?"
"Did you forget someone? Jess? Where the fúck is she? I told you to bring her straight back."
Irvin kept his face slack, his shoulders squared up as shield, and he flicked his fingers to the side as if there was a mosquito hovering around his head, buzzing buzzing buzzing in his ears persistently, driving him insane. "I dropped her off. Outside. Straight back like you said. And then I drove away."
"Did she come inside?"
"I don't know." He shrugged and that pissed off Cole more than his answers: he shot upright, smashing his fist into Irvin's nose, and it cracked like a whip, painful, and hot blood dripped onto the floor as Irvin, silent, took the hit and wiped his nose with his wrist, staring straight back at Cole, his eyes lifeless. His nose dribbled blood down his face, into his closed mouth and over the curve of his lips, and to the end of his chin.
"I told you, I fúcking told you to bring her straight back, she was your responsibility, you dumb fúcking shithead!" Cole bellowed in his face, his expression ugly and hateful, his gaze hooded, a sick man.
"I brought her back," Irvin said in resistance, and Doriano sighed, muttering under his breath niño estúpido. "I did what you said. It's not my fault. You forgot to tell me to hold her hand and escort her inside."
Cole was a brutish bully, the military father, the bitter headmaster, shocked about getting an answer back and asking for a repeat so he could build his anger up to even greater heights and then lash out, as if the repeat was a chance for Irvin to back away, to murmur his sorry and if Irvin didn't take his chance, Cole, in his mind, would be justified in beating him. Irvin didn't seem to care, ready to parrot, even as the tension spiked in the room and the greedy men leaned forward, eager to see some more blood. I stepped forward, pushing myself in front of Irvin. "He's sorry. Is that what you wanted to hear? It was a mistake."
Cole didn't look at me, he was determined, and I had a feeling he'd be reaching for Irvin over my head and none of his men would stop him, like they were at a wrestling match, already placing bets onto how long Irvin could last. I turned to face Irvin, silently pleading with him, his eyes fell on my bald head, and he stared for a few seconds, dropping his gaze. "Yeah. Sorry, it won't happen again."
Cole still looked ticked off, but I think he attempted to be reasonable, restraining himself, he slapped his hand around Irvin's neck, pulling him closer, and being in the way, I was sandwiched between them, in a weird hug I didn't ask for. "Don't do it again, alright dipshit?"
The disappointment in the room was palpable: forgiving Cole was not their favourite character. "Alright." Cole announced. "Everyone get the fúck out of here. Go on. You going to stay here, Irvin?" Irvin nodded, and I stepped aside as the men trudged out of the room, leaving the three of us alone. "James will drop by tomorrow to check up on you three. You're going to go to college, get back into routine. I've cleared out the alcohol from Daniel's room. When he wakes up tomorrow, pass on the message: if any of you are hungover when you go to college, I will fúcking string you up."
"When did you become our dad?"
Cole glowered at me, pressed lips, and firm jaw, instructing Irvin to leave the room: he complied, leaving us alone. I attempted to make a quick exit after Irvin, my wit dead on my tongue, my feet cold. "Don't grab me like that." I snapped, trying to tear myself away, being so close to him made me uncomfortable. I could feel his body heat and it wasn't entirely pleasant, it made my skin prickly, anxious, and he put his mouth to my ear.
"The next time you try to protect Irvin and be a hero, I will hurt you instead. Don't get in my way and don't be fúcking stupid."
"You'd hit a girl?" I gave him a dirty stare.
He chuckled softly, humourlessly, holding my chin gently, his gaze boring into mine, and he said. "Until you're dripping wet."
I was puzzled for a short moment then a light bulb turned on, and I grimaced. "What does–oh, for heaven sake..." I trailed off, his gaze had fallen, and he was staring at my lips. My resolve crumbled, and some disgraceful part of me was squealing in delight, and the other was a firm NoNoNo! And I think I was having a false heart attack, my chest was hammering and I was trying to regulate my breathing, my spine collapse, and I shot back, putting distance between us.
He smiled delightfully, wickedly, as if he'd been proven right on a statement I wasn't aware of and he snickered. "Your cheeks are burning red."
"Piss off." He was lying, I wasn't going to let him affect me even though I had some stupid spaz attack seconds ago. I pulled myself together, crossing my arms, hands tucked under my armpits, irritated. "You're such a little shit."
"See you later, Pitbull." He mock saluted, leaving, finally leaving.
Irvin was asleep by the time I went upstairs, side by side next to Daniel in his bed, stripped to his boxers. I closed the door on them and slept on the sofa with the spare blanket and woke hours later, at half past ten in the morning. It was a terrible sleep, I had a creepy dream of trying to run away from Dad on a stretch of continuous road and Jade stuck her foot out and I tripped, instead of my chin smacking against the concrete, I fell in Cole's lap. Awake now, I cringed thinking about it. It was embarrassing and ridiculous.
I pushed out a foot and then the other foot, connecting to the cold floor. It was raining again, fast and hard, drumming against the window. I didn't want to start the day but I also didn't want to risk falling into another weird dream or lay about, overthinking. I made myself some strong coffee, and cooked eggs and sausages for Daniel and Irvin and heated up the grill and then placing the food under to keep their breakfast warm.
I turned on the TV, flicked through the channels until I stopped at morning news. I was folding the blanket when the news reporter caught my attention about a murder. I dreaded thinking it would be about Dad. She had short blonde hair, big breasts and puckered glossy lips. Her dress stretched over her chest, emphasising the big mounds of fat. I wondered why she was hired. Her face was grim, too much cosmetic work, her forehead was smooth, too smooth, she didn't look right frowning in sorrow. "...Police have identified the body of the young woman found on the London Bridge late last night. A spokeswoman for the police department have confirmed she was, in fact, murdered..." The rest of her words became muffled, faint background noise, incessant.
Jess grinned at me.
CHARACTER VIEWS DO NOT REPRESENT MY OWN. Please be civil in the comment section.