by A. M. Irvin
But I didn’t say any of that. What would it matter?
“I’m sorry,” I muttered, hiding my face.
Dad didn’t say anything else. He put the tool back on the bench and ushered me out of his workroom.
I wished I could hug him.
I wished he’d put his arm around me and treat me like a daughter.
Like a person.
Wishing was something I did best.
Memories of my father were few and far between. It had been years since he had died and what little interaction we once had began to fade with time. Just one more thing I had lost.
His death had seemed almost like an afterthought. Mother informed me one day after school that Dad had died and would never come home.
I had tried to ask her questions, but she wouldn’t have it.
“Will we plan his funeral? Where will he be buried?” I asked with tears running down my face.
Mother’s face had hardened. “He’ll be cremated, and I’ll spread his ashes somewhere far, far away. But there won’t be a funeral. We can’t afford it. Now that he’s gone we don’t have money for frivolous things.”
Frivolous things? Saying goodbye to my father was frivolous?
“You’re horrible!” I had yelled. It was the only time I had ever raised my voice to Mother. It would be the last as well . . .
Her face had turned molten red just before she slapped me across the face. Even as much as it hurt, I delighted in the contact. It was one of the few times she forced herself to touch me.
“We’re better off without him!” she screamed.
Better off? How could she say that?
I didn’t ask. I wasn’t given time to grieve.
She locked me away.
I would spend the rest of my life a prisoner.
“A prisoner,” I breathed to no one.
Whoever was keeping me here wasn’t listening to anything I had to say.
I ran my fingers through my hair. Dried blood, grit, and grime coated my hands.
“I’m never getting out of here,” I said out loud. It was a scary truth but a truth all the same.
Spiraling ever downward, I barely registered the thump just on the other side of the wall.
I dropped my hands to my side and stood completely still. Not moving. Not breathing.
Only listening.
Thump.
Louder than a gunshot in the prolonged silence.
“Was that real?” I whispered. I couldn’t trust anything anymore. Particularly my senses. And certainly not my perceptions.
Reality was a slippery slope dropping off into illusions.
Was the noise an illusion?
Thump, thump.
I held in the gasp as I pressed my ear against the charred black wall.
Not moving.
Not breathing.
Only listening.
Nothing.
I let out a sob. It had to be real!
I stayed where I was. I refused to move. I kept listening and listening. But I didn’t hear the thump again.
My ears began to play tricks on me. I heard noises I knew weren’t there.
Thumps became tapping. Tapping became footsteps.
Footsteps eventually became voices.
“You’re alone, Nora. All alone.”
“Ugly, ugly Nora Gilbert.”
“You’re best kept locked away where no one can see you.”
I knew they weren’t real, but in the solitude, the words became concrete. Bradley spoke in harsh whispers. Dad’s gravely voice became a cacophony of sound.
Mother hissed and growled her hatred.
And her voice became the loudest of all. But her words didn’t ring with the element of delusions. They were real, plucked from memories.
“You can’t force love, Nora! You can’t demand affection! You’re squeezing me to death, and I just want you to let me go!”
I covered my ears with my hands and started rocking on my feet.
“Shut up!” I screamed.
“Stop being stupid, Nora! No one cares what you think about anything.”
Rosie’s taunts rang like a death knell.
“No more! Please!”
I fell to the floor, curling in on myself.
“Please,” I moaned.
Thump.
Then silence.
Thump, thump.
No more.
For just a moment I felt comfort.
It was fleeting and disappeared into the quiet.
The Past
Five Months Ago
I didn’t feel like going to school. Mother had dropped me off per usual, but instead of making my way to class, I headed off campus and kept walking.
I had no real destination in mind. I just knew that sitting in English Lit was the last place I wanted to be.
Sometimes I liked to avoid real life.
Bradley would be looking for me. I knew he’d worry when I didn’t show up. But I didn’t care.
Some days I needed something just for me.
I kept walking and walking and eventually found myself at the south entrance to Waverly Park. I stopped just under the canopy of dead trees on the border of the green field.
I hadn’t been to the park since I was a child and only ever with my dad. Mother didn’t like parks. And she certainly didn’t like taking me to the park. She hated to spend time fielding off comments and questions about my disfigured face. She chose isolation and confinement as a means to avoid it at all cost.
I took a tentative step forward, filled with a strange sense of guilt. As though I would be caught doing something I shouldn’t.
I tucked my school bag to my chest, I made myself continue on, breaking out through the trees and then crossing the green expanse of manicured field towards the picnic tables.
Spring was coming and it was the first warm day since the fall. It had been a long, harsh winter, and I was happy to see it gone.
Despite the pleasurable feeling of having the sun warm my skin, I kept my face down.
Hide. Hide away . . .
I sat down at an empty table and tried to still my overexcited heart. I felt a little nauseated and thought about leaving and heading back to school.
I didn’t want to think about what Mother would say if she knew I was here. I shuddered.
I had skipped class. I was playing hooky. I was enjoying a nice day outside instead of being closed up at home or at school. It felt liberating to do something so spontaneous.
Unnatural but fulfilling.
I pulled out a notebook I always kept tucked discreetly in my bag. It was my secret. I filled the pages with ramblings that would make no sense to anyone but me. It was my safe place.
I uncapped a pen and poised the tip above the blank paper. I took a moment to enjoy the noise.
I could hear children laughing on the jungle gym. The loud rumble of the garbage truck as it drove down the street.
Here, I was surrounded by people. My heart felt full, and I found myself smiling.
“It’s a pretty awesome day, right?”
I startled at the unexpected sound of a voice. I looked up, making sure that my hair covered most of my face, and saw the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my short life.
She appeared to be around my age with long, dark hair that fell almost to her waist. She wore bright pink and white-stripped leggings and a long white T-shirt that fell off one of her shoulders. She also wore a black beret that balanced precariously on top of her head. She was obviously one of those women who were effortlessly fashionable.
But it wasn’t her clothes that made me stare. It was her incredibly dark eyes. Her face. The tiny dimple in the center of her chin.
And the way she carried herself with a confidence that I would never, ever possess.
Looking at this gorgeous girl only served to remind me of how ugly I was.
I quickly averted my gaze, not responding to her comment. I began to scribble along the margins of the paper in front
of me. Careless doodles created by nervous fingers.
The beautiful woman stood there another few seconds, and I felt my face flush under her scrutiny. My heart thudded at a rapid rate, my mouth went dry, and my palms began to sweat. And I felt a tingling deep down in the darkest, most secret parts of me. I squirmed in my seat, very uncomfortable.
“Okay. Well, enjoy the day,” the girl said after a beat and walked away. I was sad. I was bereft. I wanted her to come back. I wished I were one of those people with the witty comments and funny one-liners. I wished that I wasn’t so self-conscious and desperate to stay hidden.
I wished I could be, just once, like that pretty woman with the perfect skin and a lovely smile.
She sat down two tables away and opened a guitar case that I hadn’t realized she was carrying. I tried to be surreptitious as I watched her, peeking through strands of thin, blonde hair.
She was lost in her own world, and I wondered what sort of place it was. I wanted to visit it with her.
Her fingers were long and slim, perfect for strumming a guitar. She pushed up the sleeves of her T-shirt and held a bright purple guitar pick between her teeth while she tuned the instrument.
I tried not to be obvious as I stared. But I honestly couldn’t help it. There was something about this woman that made it impossible to look away. She made my insides quiver and my heart race. I didn’t understand it. It made me uneasy. But it was also exhilarating. I couldn’t remember ever feeling this way about a complete stranger before.
She smiled slightly as she took the pick from between her teeth and lightly ran it along the strings. Then she began to strum a melody.
She started to whistle. It was rather high pitched and seemed at odds with the lovely music she was playing.
I sat up and almost subconsciously pushed my hair away from my face. I wanted to look at her without obstruction.
She continued to whistle, and I made a face. She looked up at me and grinned. Without missing a beat, the whistling became a hum that went on and on. Up and down, notes floating in and out of my ears.
“I don’t have any lyrics yet. So I just hum. Kinda lame.” She pressed her palm flat over the strings, tapping her fingers against the wood. “I’m good at playing the music but not so good at writing the words. I guess I’ll never make it as a musician, huh?”
The sun had become almost hot, and I found myself smiling at the stranger. This beautiful, confident woman who looked at my face and didn’t flinch at the sight of my scars. I noticed the way her eyes flicked over my mouth but they didn’t linger. Her expression never wavered. It was as though she didn’t care about the marks on my face. She wasn’t bothered by the very thing that had defined my life for as long as I could remember.
I straightened my shoulders and lifted my chin.
Then I gave her words. Words that I had never shared with anyone. Words that I had kept stashed away in my notebook since I had first written them many years before.
On that first lonely night behind locked doors.
Before I had green eyes to keep me company.
The words had changed throughout the years. They had begun as the juvenile ramblings of a terrified little girl and had become the haunting lament of someone wasting away.
I had never shared them with anyone.
Not even Bradley.
But I gave them to her.
A beautiful stranger who looked at me like a person.
The dark has eyes.
The shadows have teeth.
Always doubt
The truth underneath . . .
I didn’t sing them so much as whisper them. I couldn’t say them loud. They were just for her. Just for me.
For the two of us.
The girl stopped playing for a moment and looked at me intently. I instinctually ducked my face behind the folds of my hair. I felt like an idiot. What had I been thinking to share them with her? I didn’t know her!
I started to quickly pack up my things. I needed to get out of there quickly. I didn’t want to go home, but there was nowhere else I could be. I needed to disappear.
Just as I was closing my book bag her voice stopped me. “That was beautiful. Really intense. Did you write that?” She sounded . . . impressed?
I gripped the strap of my bag until my knuckles went white. I thought about running away despite her question. I was scared. Confused.
But rooted to the spot.
I nodded.
The girl began to strum the melody again and then she sang my words, and I felt something stirring in my painful, hidden away heart.
The dark has eyes . . .
The shadows have teeth . . .
Then strangely, my voice mixed with hers.
Always doubt
The truth underneath . . .
She stopped singing, and I carried on. I had never sung out loud in my life. I didn’t listen to music because Mother hated the noise. I had never dared to defy her. I hoped I didn’t sound bad.
Lies are like raindrops
No two are the same . . .
Bind you
Deny you
Wrapped up in chains.
The girl was watching me, her eyes never leaving me. She stopped playing again and trembled. Was I that terrible?
“Dude, that was amazing! I just got goose bumps. Look!” She held out her arm, and I walked a little closer to her and looked at her smooth, pretty skin pimpled in tiny bumps.
“You’re hella talented. What’s your name?” she asked, laying the guitar face up in her lap.
“Nora Gilbert,” I said quietly, not quite meeting her eyes.
She held out her hand that I noticed was covered in silver rings. One on each finger. I found myself staring at her hand and the tiny symbol on the underside of her wrist. A red infinity symbol just over a dark blue vein.
I tentatively shook her hand, my grip weak.
“Nice to meet you, Nora. I’m Maren Digby. I just moved to Blackfield with my dad a couple of weeks ago and enrolled at the community college. Is it always this boring around here?”
I found myself smiling again. She had an easy way about her that neither demanded nor expected anything.
“It is. If you’re not a hunter or don’t like to go camping, you’re out of luck.”
Maren laughed and it was a nice sound. I laughed too. I never laughed. But I wanted to do so with her. So that we were doing something together. The two of us.
“Shit. Well, I’m screwed. I guess I’ll be hanging out with you a lot then.” She winked at me, and my cheeks flushed.
“Nora!”
I startled and backed up a step. Maren looked over my shoulder and frowned. “Who’s the pissed off hottie?” she asked.
I didn’t need to turn around. I knew who it was.
Bradley.
Seconds later, I felt his hand wrap around my upper arm, and my stomach knotted up. He was angry. So angry. I needed to prepare myself for his mood.
Maren watched us, worry evident on her face.
“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Bradley fumed, pulling me around so that I would have to look at him. I felt my own anger rise up to meet his. I was embarrassed by the scene he was making in front of Maren. I was used to his tantrums, but this was the first time I became enraged by them.
“Did you skip class?” he demanded, his green eyes flashing.
I nodded, trying to contain my irritation. Soothe, Nora. “I couldn’t sit in a classroom. It’s too nice out,” I explained, hoping he’d leave, though I should have known he wouldn’t go anywhere without me.
“Man, you realize you have an audience, right?” Maren waved her hand to indicate her presence. “I see you going all abusive asshole on Nora, and it’s not cool. At all.”
Bradley’s eyes narrowed and his face turned molten. “How do you even know Nora?” he spat out, infuriated.
Maren’s frown deepened and she opened her mouth, but I cut her off. “We just met. Bradley, this is Maren Digby. Maren
, this is Bradley Somers, my friend.”
I don’t know why I felt it important to stress the title of our relationship to Maren, but it was. I didn’t want her to think we were together. I didn’t want there to be any question about Bradley’s role in my life, particularly with his current behavior.
Bradley dropped his hand as though I had burned him. He met Maren’s eyes. They engaged in a silent communication that I wasn’t privy to, nor did I want to be. It was heated and mildly territorial.
Bradley turned back to me once the staring contest was over. “We have time to get to your last class. You don’t want to miss the whole day,” he said softly, the fury in his voice subsiding. His face softened and I relaxed. I knew I’d give him what he wanted.
“Okay,” I agreed.
Bradley inclined his head towards the parking lot where he was parked. “Let’s go.”
I glanced back at Maren, and my stomach dropped at her expression. I knew it well. It was disgust.
“Bye,” I said, sounding awkward, not knowing what else to say.
Maren nodded but didn’t reply, her eyes flicking between me and Bradley who refused to look at her.
I followed Bradley across the field towards his car, feeling a mixture of anger and disappointment.
Day 4
The Present
While I weep – while I weep
My limbs felt stiff and my back hurt. I tried to move, but I felt as though I were encased in cement. I focused on moving just one finger but nothing happened.
I was paralyzed.
I grit my teeth to stop myself from screaming.
“I’m not sure how long she’ll stay like this . . .”
Beep. Beep. Beep.
What was that noise?
I had lost my phone somewhere that night. The sound was faint, like the wisp of almost silence carried in on the breeze.
But there was no breeze.
Just still, putrid air.
My chest felt tight and I couldn’t breathe.
I just need to move!
Then my eyes popped open and I sat up, gasping and wheezing. I felt as though I had barely survived drowning. My mouth open and closed as I sucked in much needed oxygen. There was a brief instant where I thought I was somewhere else.
I hoped I was somewhere else.