Fighting My Demons

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Chapter 7

Lunch

"Mum, I have something to tell you. Please don't get angry. I was pushed to the wall."

I clasped my hands together and looked at her with every ounce of sincerity I could gather.

She raised one eyebrow. "What did you do, Boma?"

"I am so sorry, Mum. I got into a fight at school today."

She was out of her chair before I had finished the sentence, hands moving over my face and arms, checking for injuries.

"Are you okay? Are you hurt anywhere?"

"I am fine, Mum. Not a scratch."

She stepped back and folded her arms. "How could you fight, Boma? Nobody settles things with their fists anymore. Explain yourself. Now."

I told her everything. Vivian, the slap, all of it. When I finished, she was quiet for a moment.

"Boma." She lifted a warning finger. "I told you to stay out of trouble."

I held my breath.

Then something shifted in her expression.

"But I am glad you are okay. And I am glad you defended yourself. Nobody has the right to lay a hand on my child, nobody. If this escalates I will come to that school myself." She pointed at me firmly. "However, you will accept whatever punishment your HOD gives you. And we are agreeing, right now, no more fighting. Understood?"

"Yes, Mum. Understood. Thank you." I exhaled so deeply I nearly deflated. I had not even realised I had been holding my breath the entire time.

"Go to bed. Read first, then sleep."

I nodded, said goodnight and climbed the stairs to my room. I changed into my pyjamas, opened my textbook and stared at the pages for a solid twenty minutes without absorbing a single word. David. Felix. Becky. Vivian. My parents. The letter. Kumar. The divorce.

Everything swirled together until sleep finally pulled me under.

"Bling. Bling."

My phone vibrated on the bedside table, dragging me out of sleep. I squinted at the alarm clock. 6:30 AM.

I picked up the phone with one eye open.

Dad.

I sat up slowly, suddenly wide awake. I had almost forgotten. Lunch. We had agreed to meet during lunch hour today.

I did not call him back. I never liked talking the moment I woke up. It drained something out of me, like my energy escaped with every word I spoke before I was properly conscious. Instead I sent him a quick message confirming I would be there and got up to start the day.

As the only child in the house, mornings were my responsibility. My mother refused to hire a nanny, so from a young age I had learned to manage, tidying the house, doing my own laundry, keeping things in order. Thankfully my mother was an early riser and always had most things sorted before I was even out of bed, leaving me just my room and the stairs. I moved through it all quickly, got dressed and ran down.

"Good morning, Mum."

"Morning, Boma." She looked up from the counter. "You look gorgeous today. Eat your breakfast quickly."

I smiled and sat down.

She looked genuinely better this morning. Lighter. Whatever her psychiatrist had been doing was clearly working, because the woman standing in the kitchen looked closer to my mother than she had in weeks. Three weeks left before the divorce could be finalised. I was not going to let that happen.

"Boma." She appeared beside me with her handbag already over her shoulder, car keys in hand and sunglasses perched on her head. She was wearing a red long gown with a side slit that showed off her right leg. She looked like she had stepped out of a magazine. "How long does it take to eat a plate of food? Let's go."

"Yes, Mum." I shoved the last bite in and grabbed my bag.

"I did not make your lunch today. Get something from the school cafeteria. And do not skip it. You cannot afford to develop an ulcer."

She stopped and fixed me with a look over her cheekbones that left absolutely no room for negotiation.

"Yes, Mum."

I arrived at school right on time and stopped dead in my tracks.

"Since when did I start keeping bodyguards?"

I muttered it under my breath, staring at the three of them lined up near the entrance. Becky, David and Felix. Waiting. For me. David and Felix looked like they were approximately thirty seconds away from strangling each other, and yet there they both stood, hands in pockets, eyes on the gate.

I felt like a target.

Before I could take another step, Becky appeared at my side out of nowhere and pulled me into a hug.

"Hi, Boma!"

"Hi, Becky." I hugged her back, then looked at the boys. "Hello, David. Hello, Felix."

"Hey." They both replied at the same time, then looked at each other.

Felix stepped forward and took my hand lightly.

"You are in soup, baby girl. The HOD wants to see you about yesterday."

"He wants to make a fuss about what happened," David added, his voice tight with concern.

Becky moved closer to my side.

"I am not worried," I said. "My mum already knows."

"Guys, we are going to be late. Let's move."

"Eat lunch with me today." All three of them said it simultaneously.

It was so perfectly timed that I burst out laughing despite everything.

"I would love to," I said, "but I already have plans. Sorry."

"Okay. See you later." Becky squeezed my arm and headed off to her classes. Felix threw David one last loaded look and walked away.

That left David.

"So what are these plans?" he asked.

I turned and looked at him. He looked back at me. Neither of us said anything for a moment.

We walked into class together in silence, both of us wearing the same worried expression, though for reasons we had not yet shared with each other.

"Just in time, Miss Boma."

The HOD looked at me over the rim of his glasses with the particular expression of a man who had been waiting to deliver bad news and was enjoying the anticipation of it.

"Boma and Vivian." He folded his hands on the desk. "You will both report to the sanitary master during lunch hour every day for one week, starting tomorrow. You are to clean all six toilets across both blocks. Anyone who fails to report will face immediate expulsion. I will not have students flouting the rules of this institution."

"But sir—"

"That is all. You are dismissed."

He walked out without hearing another word.

I turned and looked at Vivian across the room. She looked back at me with an expression that could have curdled milk.

Thanks for this, I thought. I hope that slap was worth it.

"Bling. Bling."

Thank God. The lunch bell.

I packed my books into my locker and headed straight for the cafeteria. I spotted my father before he saw me, sitting at the chess table near the far wall, shoulders slightly hunched, looking smaller somehow than I remembered.

I ran to him.

The tears came before I could stop them. I wrapped my arms around him and held on, and he held me back so tightly I could barely breathe. When he finally released me we both sat down, and I wiped my face with the back of my hand.

"Good day, Dad. I missed you so much."

"I missed you too, my Boma." He searched my face with tired eyes. "I am so sorry. How are you? How is your mother? How is Stella?"

"I am fine." I looked at him steadily. "Mum is not. You broke her, Dad. You made her feel miserable and small and she is asking for a divorce. What happened to you? What made you go back?"

The words came out harder than I intended but I did not take them back. I needed him to hear them.

He reached across the table and wiped the tears from my cheeks with his thumb.

"It is a long story, my dear. I failed my promise and I am not proud of it."

"I know about Darlington," I said quietly.

His face went still.

"I know about the FBI. I know about Kumar. I know about the letter." I held his gaze. "Why did you and Mum never tell me? Why did you hide all of it?"

He stared at me for a long moment, then something in him softened and he almost smiled. Almost.

"You are truly my daughter," he said.

He began to explain everything, filling in the gaps that the boss had left, telling me about the letter that had arrived weeks ago, the one that had unravelled him. Someone had sent it from inside the prison. Someone who knew exactly which wounds to reopen and how deep to press.

"How did you find all of this out?" he asked when he was done.

"Long story," I said. "But Dad, listen to me. You and Mum are not getting divorced. We are a family and we are going to get through this together. All of us."

I took his hand in both of mine.

He looked at me for a long moment, then pulled me into another hug.

"I am so proud of you," he said quietly into my hair. "In a little while, we will solve this together. Nobody is going to break this family apart."

He pulled back, reached across the table and pushed a plate of ice cream toward me with a small smile. Then he stood up, picked up his jacket and paused.

"Boma. Protect your mother for me." His voice dropped. "I am sorry for putting this on your shoulders. You should not have to carry any of this."

He squeezed my hand once and left.

I sat there with my ice cream melting in front of me and cried quietly into the noise of the cafeteria until I had nothing left.

So it was a letter. Someone inside that prison had written to my father and deliberately broken him. Someone who knew about Darlington, about the promise, about exactly where to strike. And whoever had sent that letter was still in there, still within reach.

I was going to find them.

I was eighteen years old and I was not afraid.

My mother still did not know that I knew any of this. She did not know about the safe, about the badges, about the visit to the bureau. She was still punishing my father for a relapse she did not yet understand, still signing divorce papers for a man who had been targeted, not simply weak.

I was the only one who could fix this.

And I intended to.