Mosaicked Feelings

XIV: Helplessness was a Myth

There are things in life which at times, make you believe that love is the scariest thing that could happen to someone. It makes you alive in your deadliest of times, and it could kill you in your most lively ones.

Mostly it was the latter part whenever I saw Mum and Dad arguing and fighting in the small living room, just next to my bedroom in the middle of the night. And even after the hundredth time when the same old-fashioned fights went out, they didn't make any difference in my anxiety levels. Each time seemed the same, or only worse than the last. My constant fears and anxiety brimmed to the extent, that just at the age of ten, I wanted to unalive myself.

It was always hard when you were expected to be the one to decide between the two who raised you, not nowing who exactly was the right one in the battle. I was always asked to take a specific side between mum and dad which was no different than choosing a favourite toy. And there was no telling what exactly was right for me.

I mean no ten-year-old is experienced enough to make such decisions, but somehow I didn't have any choice.

Yet I was glad I did the right thing. I did have a good perspective of what abuse could look like. So it didn't take a genius to figure out what was right, between a woman spending insomniac crying nights in a separate room and, a man having no care in this world, preferring to stay outside of the house at all times except for the food and whatnot.

It was still a mystery til today where exactly he'd be for months but we could never question. He was a parent, of course, I had no right to do that.

I slowly paced around the central park, his desired rendezvous, in search of him.

My eyes scanned around the cheerful families scattered in different spots of the park. Happily and lively, playing and running around like the most carefree creatures with no bother in the world. It almost seemed like, at times, fate itself mocked me for how unachievable those things were for me when I was younger. That was a good enough reason for me to be glad to have grown up from my cursed childhood and never wanted to go back there.

"You're here," I heard a familiar yet distant sound call me, making me turn to face the foreign man who I used to call dad once in a lifetime.

"Yeah." I plastered a small smile, in response and he led me to one of the benches in the far corner. Better off being in the dark when I couldn't show off my lively little family.

He led me onto one of the benches and tiredly sat down looking up at me and waiting for me to do the same. I deliberately sat, noticing his features clearly for the first time. He was clean-shaven but he looked old, way older for his age. His body looked awfully weak as it was seemingly hunched into a bad posture, but I didn't have it in myself to pity him one bit.

"How's your mother doing?" He asked as he would usually do, in his usual blank-concerned voice.

"Why does it matter?"

"Because I still love her," He quipped and I had half a mind to retaliate but I had no choice. I was dependent on him.

"I just need money for my university," I cut to the chase, simply lying. I was not in the mood not to carry on the constant banter of how he missed Mum and how cruel it was of us, to not let him back in, and to protect ourselves. I kept my eyes fixed anywhere but on him as I didn't want to see the satisfactory smile of how he knew I was dependent on him.

The truth was, I was already enrolled in scholarships, it wasn't the money I needed for my education. It was meant for Mum's medical bills, something she had been suffering from but didn't want to be a bother by letting me know.

"Is your mother still working?" He asked back indifferently.

"She is," I knew he wanted to hear how it wasn't enough but I was by no means, giving him the satisfaction.