CHAPTER 5
1066 Words
The house felt different after that night.
Not broken,just quieter.Like it was afraid of waking something that couldn’t be put back to sleep.
My father didn’t go to work the next morning.
I noticed it when I woke up and heard him moving around the kitchen,his footsteps was heavy.. He had always left early,before sunrise, the sound of the door closing as familiar to me breathing. That morning , the door stayed shut.
I layed in bed staring at the ceiling, counting the cracks, tracing them with my eyes. My body felt sore in places I didn’t want to think about. Heavy. Not injured in a way people could see,like my skin didn’t belong to me anymore.
When I finally sat up, the room spun slightly. I waited for it for pass.
Everything took longer now.
Getting dressed felt like a task that required planning. I chose the softest sweater I owned, even though it was too warm for the season . I needed the weight of it . The coverage . My hands shook as I pulled it over my head.
I avoided the mirror.
In the bathroom, the light felt too bright. I washed my face slowly, deliberately, as if moving too fast break me apart. The was faint bruise on my arm I didn’t remember earning.I touched it, then pulled my hand away quickly.
No.
I couldn’t
When I stepped into the kitchen, my father was standing at the stove , staring down at a pan like it had personally offended him.
He turned when he heard me
The relief on his face nearly knocked the air out of my lungs.
“You’re up,” he said, too quickly. “Sit. I made eggs.”
I nodded and sat at the table,.he placed a plate in front of me.then hesitated,like he didn’t know what to do with himself next. He stood there for a moment , then sat across from me instead of his usual spot by the window .
We ate in silence.
I picked at the food more than I actually ate. My stomach felt unsettles,tight. Every few bites made me feel..strange. Not sick.just off.
“You don’t have to ear it all,” he said quietly.
“I know.”
But I tried anyway. He was watching me like he thought I might disappear if he blinked.
After breakfast,he insisted I stay on the couch while he cleaned.Normally, I would have argued, I would have told him to sit down and let me to do it. That morning. I didn’t have the strength.
He moved around the apartment like he was afraid of making noise. Even the clink of plates sounded too loud.
At one point, he stopped and looked at me .
“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly.
I frowned. “For what?”
His hands clenched at his sides. “For not being there. For letting you walk home alone For” His voice cracked,and he stopped.
I stood up before I realixed what I was doing.
“This isn’t your fault,” I said,even though the words tasted bitter. “You didn’t do this.”
He looked ata me like he didn’t believe me. Like he never would.
We stood there facing each other, the air between us thick with things we didn’t know how to say. Then, slowly, awkwardly, he opened his arms.
I hesitated.
My body stiffened on instinct, fear rising sharp and sudden. He noticed immediately. His arms dropped.
“I’m sorry,”he said quickly. “I shouldn’t “
“No,” I said. “It’s okay . I just give a second.
I stepped forward when I was ready.
His embrace was careful , nothing like before . he didn’t hold me tightly . he didn’t press. He just rested his chin lightly on my head, like I was something fragile.
I cried then.
Not loudly. Not the kind of crying that demands attention . it slipped out of me quietly, tears soaking into his shirt as my body shock.
“I’m here,” he whispered over and over. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”
I wanted to believe him.
The rest of the whole day passed slowly
Time stretched and folded in on itself. I dozed on the couch, waking every so often from dreams that dissolved the moment I opened my eyes. My father stayed close, reading the same newspaper page again and again without turning it.
In the afternoon, he brought me tea. Chamomile. They way he uses to when I was sick as a child.
My stomach rolled when I smelled it.
I swallowed hard and took a sip anyway.
“You feeling alright?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said automatically
The lie came easily. Too easily.
Later, I showered. I stood under the water until my skin wrinkled, until the steam fogged the mirror completely. I scrubbed my scrubbed my self raw, my hands drifting somewhere far away.
When I stepped out, I felt exhausted. Hollowed out.
That night, as I lay in bed, I stared at the dark and listened the sounds of the apartment. The hum of the refrigerator. My father’s breathing through the thin wall.
I should have been relieved to be home.
Instead, I felt disconnected.
My body felt unfamiliar. Heavy in a way that had nothing to do with sleep. I shifted, a strange wave of nausea rolling through me.
Stress , I told myself.
Trauma.
That’s what everyone says happens after something like this.
The thought lingered anyways
When I checked the calendar on my phone, just to distract myself, I noticed the date and felt twist low in my stomach.
I frowned .
It had been weeks.
I stared at the screen longer than necessary, then locked it locked quickly, like it accused me of something.
No.
I wasn’t going to think about that.
I turned onto my side, pulling the blanket tighter around myself, and focused on the sound of my father moving quietly in the other room, making sure the door was locked . Making sure I was safe.
Outside, the city continued on, loud and indifferent.
Inside, everything felt suspended, like we were standing on the edge of something neither of us was ready to name.
I closed my eyes.
Tomorrow , I told my self.
I would think about it tomorrow.
- Writer
