Behind Closed Doors

Chapter 5

"Did you get the new shipment?" James shakes his head, no. "You said you would have it!" I say, my voice rising. I needed this job to be successful, It's my sister and I's only way out of here. I snatch the plastic bag out of his hands and thrust it in my purse, stalking away.

Father and mother are fighting again. Father raises his hand high, ready to slap her, while mother sits in the corner, bawling. My sisters are all in my room, playing monopoly when we hear father's loud, heaving footsteps approaching the room. I quickly lock the door and tell the others that we are playing hide and seek, and that they must hide under my bed or in the closet and I will look for them afterward. Father pounds on the door as my sisters run to hide, to young to realize it's not a fun game. He yells at me to unlock the door, his voice dripping with venom and hatred. Esme still has yet to find a hiding spot, so I help her in the closet with Lilia.

There's a moment of silence, and I wait, wondering if father walked away, but instead, the door abruptly breaks of its hinges and collapses on the floor. Father walks into the room, glaring at me menacingly. He wants to know where my sisters are, says we need to be taught a lesson so we don't turn out like our cheater of a mother. He yells, saying that mother was talking to one of Izzy's male teachers after school, and that she is un loyal. Calling her terrible names and saying that we're all going to be just like her if we're not careful. I've never seen him this angry, and I know that if I don't do something, my sisters will all be in danger. With all of my strength, I shove father into the doorway. He stumbles into the hallway, tripping on a shard of broken door, and yelling curse words. I'm about to run back in my room when father comes up behind me, and shoves me to the ground. I hit my head, hard, and black out.

The next thing I know, I'm awake in a hospital bed with doctors poking and prodding at me, taking my temperature, feeling my heartbeat, and touching my head. They inform me that I suffered a minor concussion, and ask me if I remember how I got it. I smile as best as I can and look at my parents, wondering what they told the doctors. I'm about to respond when I catch fathers eye. He looks at me with a slight tilt of his head, and I immediately understand the message. "No, I don't remember." I tell the doctor who questioned me. She nods. "Short-term memory loss is very common with concussions." She says, making a note on her clipboard, "Luckily, you're parents were able to give us a detailed account of what happened, so that should be sufficient." I nod, feeling weak. As the doctor leaves the room to talk to mother, father looks at me again and smiles approvingly. I said the right thing.

I wake up and jolt to a sitting position, staring at the wall across from me. The old clock on my dresser says it's only two in the morning, which can only mean one thing; the nightmares are back. They used to be consistent, a nightly thing, but after what happened my freshman year of high school, they let up. I have chronic insomnia, so sleeping is always hard to come by, but having vivid nightmares makes it ultimately worse. The night when I wound up at the hospital was one of the most terrifying nights of my life, an intense reminder that I need to lie to keep myself safe. My whole life is evolved around one big lie.
One deception of perfection.
One distortion of happiness.

I get out of bed and make my way to the front of my room where my window seat is. The window seat has always been my favorite part of the Michigan house because none of the other bedrooms have one, and in a family with five children, it's rare to have anything to oneself. The seat is upholstered in my favorite color, pale pink satin, and has a set of matching curtains covering the window. I situate myself on the seat and pull back the curtains, gazing out into the night. The sky is dark, almost black, and there is not a cloud in sight. The moon beams down, casting an eerie glow on the chestnut tree sitting in our front yard. If I look closely enough, I can see the assortment of wild flowers growing in a ditch near the abandoned house across the street, the black-eyed Susans and cornflowers swaying softly in the breeze. I crack open my window and take a deep breath, inhaling the cool night air. I remember my first time sitting in this seat right after we bought the house. Mother had just told me, Cate, and Esme she was pregnant again with Lilia. I was three at the time, barely old enough for preschool but still old enough to realize that another baby would just mean more trouble, more fighting. So, I came up here to think. Ever since, this has been my contemplating seat, my decompressing seat.

Sitting here, near this window, in this house, brings back many memories for me.

Happy memories, memories of
swimming, picnics, and laying in the sun all day.

Peaceful memories, memories of
reading on the deck, late night bonfires, and sleeping in.

But it also brings back memories I'd rather forget.

Sad memories, memories of
crying myself to sleep, fighting with my sisters, and being yelled at by father.

Terrifying memories, memories of
being hit and beaten, hiding in my closet, having to take my sisters and leave the house for hours on end with nowhere to go.

Stressful memories, memories of
lying and cheating and hiding, strong feelings of guilt and remorse, so desperate to save myself and my sisters that I was slowly destroying other peoples lives.

I know what I have to do. I leap off of my seat, quickly shut the window, and make my way down the hallway to Cate and Esme's room, stopping first to make sure the light is still off in mother and father's. It's time to come clean.