Behind Closed Doors

Chapter 1

It's the beginning of the summer, June 12th to be exact. I'm seventeen years old, a rising senior in high school. My family arrived at our Lake Michigan summer house yesterday, and I'm supposed to be helping my sisters unpack, but instead, I'm standing in front of my mirror trying to use foundation to cover up the bruises.

He keeps it well hidden, try's to not leave any visible marks, but there are still a few sometimes. This time, it was because of a B on my math test. One of my father's favorite quotes are "You're nothing in life if not the best." He hurts mom, too. Mostly emotionally, but he's hit her in front of us a few times. I think he does it to remind us to be afraid, to remind us of his power.

My whole life, he's put pressure on me and my sisters. Pressure to be smart, pretty, successful. He emotionally manipulates us into doing his bidding, never once considering that anyone matters except for him. Since they got married, he's forced mother into a lifeless puppet, never allowing her an opinion. An object on a shelf, kept shiny and well dusted, but rarely used.

My father, a prestigious lawyer.
A family man.
An abuser.

I sigh and thrust down my makeup sponge; the coverage is as good is it's going to get. Besides, our Michigan house is located in an isolated beachfront area with its only neighbors being empty houses up for sale, making it very unlikely for us to be seen by other people.

Other people.
My family's worst nightmare.

Before every first day of school, every family gathering, we get The Talk. The talk where we are told to not say anything, to keep quiet for our own good. The talk where father yells and threatens, telling us that there will be consequences. So we stay silent. Never uttering a word about our home life, coming up with flimsy excuses when friends ask to come over.

There are only four bedrooms in the Michigan house, one for mother and father, one for me, one for Cate and Esme, and one for Lilia and Izzy. I creep down the hallway to Cate and Esme's room, careful to not make any noise and end up disturbing father. That's the thing about an abuser, you have to live as if walking on eggshells, worrying that the slightest inconvenience will set them off.

Once reaching their bedroom, I help Esme organize her swimsuit collection. She's very particular about it, needing everything organized by style and then by color. Cate lays on her pink and yellow paisley comforter looking at her phone and texting. Then, we hear it. The undeniable sound of a fight between our parents. First comes the yelling from father, then the crying from mother. Then the piercing sound of a slap radiating throughout the house. Cate looks at me and says, "Maybe now is a good time to go to the beach."

Cate, Esme, and I quickly gather towels, swimsuits, a quilt, and sunblock in a tote bag before making our way to Lilia and Izzy's room. Despite being thirteen, Izzy is incredibly sensitive, like a delicate flower that will break at even the slightest touch. Our parents fights have always effected her the most. When we reach their room, Lilia is wearing her headphones, most likely playing music to drown the sound out, and Izzy is curled up on her bed with tears in her eyes. I immediately make my way to her. "It's okay. We're going to go to the beach now, alright?" I say. Esme is busy getting Lilia to gather her watercolor supplies and Cate's standing in the doorway looking back and forth from the hallway as if making sure that father doesn't come upstairs. Izzy looks up at me with watery eyes before nodding and proceeding to get out of bed and follow the others downstairs.

The Michigan house has two exterior doors, a front one and a back one. Naturally, the front door faces out onto the street and is only accessible if walking through the living room. The back door, however, opens into our backyard, which is confined simply with a short, white fence. This house has been in the Clairmont family for generations, so, of course my sisters and I have had plenty of practice climbing over it. For this reason, our little procession makes its way through the back door, over the fence, and onto the sand directly on the other side.

This is my responsibility as the eldest.
To help my younger sisters.
To protect them.

The beach is silent, almost peaceful. I take out my favorite faded quilt and lay it down on the vast sand. Esme takes out her journal and Lilia takes out her watercolor while Cate and Izzy race into the lake, finally looking free. I lay down on the quilt and stare at the sky. It's a pale, almost ghostly blue, with wisps of clouds scattered throughout. To all my friends, summer is a time to be happy, to be relaxed. But for me, it's a time of wariness, a time of fear. While my friends are on vacation swimming, or at summer camp meeting new people, I'm here, being kept a prisoner in my own summer home.

Everyday, there's the matter of messing up, of upsetting father. That's what mother calls it anyways, "upsetting him". She tries to ignore the abuse as best as she can, as if putting a name to it makes it more real. As I look out to the lake and see my sisters running and frolicking, Esme and Lilia came into the water as well, I feel a fierce sense of protection. I won't ever let anything bad happen to them.

Which is why, I suppose, three years ago, I did what I had to do.

"Adelaide, come in the water!" Lilia yells, her voice so clear and innocent. Pulling myself out of my thoughts, I run across the sand to join my sisters.