Different colored minds

Stepping on a landmine

PAMELA POV

I can see it in his eyes when I walk down the stairs. My dad is in a bad mood. I sit down on the sofa. There's quiet in the room except for the droning sound of I love Lucy in the background.
"How was school?" He asks looking at the tv.
"School was good." It's late at night and I can feel my stomach grumbling. I get up.
"You doing well in your classes?" He continues.
"Yeah," I walk towards the refrigerator and pull out the bag of tater tots. I'm waiting for him to snap. It's just a matter of time. My dad switches the channel. a monotonous woman's voice carries through the room. I press start on the air fryer and wait for the tater tots to cook.
"Did you make me any?" My hand freezes on the counter. A slight tremor runs through my hand. Here it comes.
"No," I reply quietly. There's a pause as my dad stands up to move towards the television. The signal is staticky.
"Must be nice to be able to be too selfish to think of anyone else," he snaps. I stop dead with my heart in my throat.
"If you want some I can make you some."
"You should have thought of that before," he snaps whirling around.
I need an out. I need to get out. This isn't safe. I'm not safe. I close my fists. I can already feel the tears building in my eyes. Im helpless.
It's so strange, my whole life all I want to do is be a voice for people that are not being treated right, so why can't I stand up for myself? And secretly I already know the answer. No matter what I say, it never really changes.
I whirl towards the freezer and pull out the tater tots.
"I'll make you some,"
"It just makes me sad that I pay for your schooling and the roof over your head and all you're thinking about is yourself," He continues.
My hand is on the handle to the freezer, holding it open. The tears are running down my face now but I won't let him see them. I pull out the tater tots, keeping my breathing even.
"I think I'm going to go to the bathroom," I stutter and my voice cracks.
"Are you running away? You do this every time we have a conflict, why are you trying to run away?" The tater tots are in the air fryer now. I turn towards my dad who is turning puse.
There's always a point when my dad loses it and stops listening. I realized it two summers ago when I tried to stand up for myself for the first time. He doesn't listen. Or maybe it's that he doesn't know how. I look him in the eye. I will always love my dad. But I will probably always be afraid of him too.
In the doorway my brother's figure appears. This situation is getting worse. I have to run. I need to get out. But at the end of the day, I'm trapped. Pride has nothing to do with it, next to mental survival I will always say I'm wrong and he's right. And then lie awake all night telling myself I'm not all of the horrible things he calls me. It must be worth living because I must be worth something. I can't be all selfish. I can't be all bad. Right?
"I'll be back later," I'm through the doorway. I can hear him as I race up the steps.
"Sure! Go ahead and cry about it like you always do," my dad shouts. I keep running. Up the stairs. Behind my door. In the corner. I turn the ipad on as fast as I can. I plunge headphones into my ears and press play on a random YouTube video.

Don't listen to him Pamela. It's okay now. You're safe. It will be okay.

I can hear him downstairs talking adamantly to my brother now. It's torture. I can't do anything to save him.

The voice in the video is droning on. I'm trying to push out the negative thoughts. I can get through the night. This isn't that bad. I can do it.

My door creaks open. I pull up and tear the headphones out of my ears.
"The iPad," my brother is in the doorway.
"But I want..."
"Hand it over," I stand up slowly and place it in his hands. What do I do now? I can't go downstairs. I can't watch videos. It's just me alone with thoughts that I don't want to think about. I'm alone. As always.
I could try and find my mom. But that can only help so much. But I have to find an away.  Because if I listened to those thoughts— if I listened to his words— I might do something my future self would regret. If I am alive to regret it.

I lay down on the bed.

I will always love my dad.

But I will also always be afraid of him.

Maybe in another life when I don't have a mind that repeats my thoughts to me on a regular basis like a broken record stuck on one song that I hate. People think I'm sensitive. People think I'm weak. It's not a matter of who I know I am. No one will ever see me beyond what they want to see.

The kid that's weird. The kid that's white that doesn't understand anything. The kid that doesn't do socially appropriate things. The kid that's easiest to pick on because she doesn't fight back. She can't fight back. She won't fight back. She will let it all hit her like a ton of bricks. It's easier that way, rather than telling someone else that they're the worst. That they're the bad one. Forcing someone to go through what I go through in my mind, I wouldn't force that onto my worst enemy.