Unchained

Chapter Two: Past

The house was dark, save for a faint light creeping in from the hallway. Eight-year-old Rhea lay as still as possible, her body curled tightly under the thin blanket. She could hear his footsteps—the slow, deliberate rhythm echoing through the walls. He always walked this way, never in a rush, as if he knew there was nowhere she could go to escape. She didn't dare move, barely even breathing. Her mind had learned to go blank in these moments, to tuck itself away, safe from whatever might happen next. She had counted the days on the calendar hidden beneath her mattress, drawing little marks in the corners of each square. Sometimes she counted them forward, thinking about how many days had passed, but other times, she counted backward. How many days until she'd be old enough to leave? The doorknob turned, creaking as it did, and she squeezed her eyes shut. She knew he'd notice if she was awake; he always noticed everything. She braced herself, going over the steps in her mind—the places her mind would travel, away from this room and away from him. But tonight, he didn't enter the room. The door stayed half-open, his silhouette lingering for a moment before he turned and walked back down the hall. Rhea didn't relax, not yet. She waited, counting to herself until she could no longer hear his footsteps, and then a little longer, just to be sure. When she finally exhaled, it felt like her first breath in hours. She pulled the blanket tighter around herself, her small body shaking as she lay awake, waiting for the morning to come.

Morning light filtered through the window, casting a pale glow over her room. Rhea blinked against the brightness, feeling the warmth on her skin as she sat up slowly. The air felt thick, laden with the weight of the night that had passed. She could hear her mother moving about the house, the soft clinking of dishes and the hum of the television in the background.

"Rhea! Breakfast!" her mother called, her voice cheerful but slightly strained.

Rhea swung her legs over the side of the bed, letting her feet dangle for a moment. She hated the mornings, the way they reset everything. The sun might shine brightly, but the shadows of the previous night clung to her like a second skin, whispering reminders of fear that bubbled beneath the surface.

"Coming!" she called back, forcing a smile as she padded to the bathroom. She washed her face, the cold water a shock against her skin. It felt good, almost as if she could wash away the remnants of her dreams. She brushed her hair quickly, tying it back in a messy ponytail, and then stepped into the kitchen.

Her mother stood by the stove, flipping pancakes with a practiced hand, the aroma filling the small space. Rhea settled at the table, trying to focus on the sound of the spatula against the pan, the rhythm soothing in its familiarity.

"Did you sleep well?" her mother asked, not turning around.

Rhea hesitated, searching for a safe answer. "Uh-huh," she replied, forcing the words out as if they were true. The truth was that sleep had come in fits and starts, haunted by dreams she couldn't quite remember, but that didn't matter now.

"Good!" her mother smiled, finally turning to place a stack of pancakes on the table. "I made your favorite."

Rhea nodded, the plate in front of her filled with golden-brown pancakes, but her stomach twisted in knots. She could never eat much in the mornings, the heaviness of the night still lingering like an unwelcome guest. As she picked up her fork, her mother's phone buzzed on the counter, and she turned to answer it. Rhea tried to ignore the feeling of dread creeping back in, the shadow that lurked just beyond her periphery.

"Hello?" her mother said, her tone shifting as she spoke to whoever was on the other line. Rhea didn't listen to the words, but she could sense the tension rising in the room. She pushed a bite of pancake around her plate, avoiding eye contact.

Her mother's expression darkened, and Rhea felt a chill in the air. She was grateful when the call ended and her mother turned back to her, but the smile was gone, replaced by a distant look that Rhea recognized all too well.

"Sorry, honey, I have to go," her mother said, rushing around the kitchen. "There's something I need to take care of."

"Can't you stay?" Rhea asked, her voice small.

"I'll be back soon," her mother promised, but Rhea could see the lie behind her eyes. She watched her mother grab her purse and keys, a tightness in her chest making it hard to breathe.

"Just... be careful," Rhea whispered, but her mother was already gone, leaving the silence of the house to envelop her once more.

As the door clicked shut, Rhea felt the familiar weight of loneliness settling in, her heart racing as she considered the hours stretching ahead of her. She turned back to her plate, forcing herself to take another bite, but it tasted like sand. Instead, she pushed her chair back, the sound grating against her nerves, and wandered into the living room.
She wanted to watch television, to lose herself in the stories unfolding on the screen, but something stopped her. A strange sense of foreboding settled over her, the knowledge that she was alone with him again. She peeked through the curtains, the world outside bright and alive, but here in this house, the shadows felt darker, thicker.
The clock ticked steadily on the wall, each second stretching into eternity. Rhea couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, as if eyes were lurking just beyond her sight. She hated being alone, hated the way the silence curled around her like a serpent, squeezing tighter and tighter.
Finally, she retreated to her bedroom, the door closed behind her, and she curled up on her bed, hugging her knees to her chest. She wanted to disappear, to shrink into the mattress and be safe from whatever darkness lay ahead.
In the confines of her mind, she crafted a story, one where she was brave, one where she escaped. She imagined running through the front door, sprinting past the street, and never looking back. She painted vivid pictures of the places she could go, the people she might meet.
But with each thought of freedom came a wave of crushing reality. Her father would come home eventually, and she would have to face him again. The thought made her stomach twist. No matter how far she ran in her imagination, she always ended up back here, back in the same cycle of fear.
The door creaked open, and Rhea's heart raced as she sat up, her breath catching in her throat. But it was only her mother, back earlier than expected. The relief washed over her in waves, but it was quickly followed by uncertainty. Why had her mother returned so soon?

"Hey, sweetie, I'm back!" her mother chirped, though there was a nervous edge to her voice. "How about some ice cream?" Rhea forced a smile, the question lingering in the back of her mind. But she pushed it down, not wanting to ruin the fragile moment they shared. "Okay!" she replied, willing her heart to calm.

They moved to the kitchen, the light brighter now as they opened the freezer door. Rhea savored the sweetness of the ice cream, the coldness grounding her in a way she desperately needed. As they laughed over sprinkles and toppings, the shadows receded for a moment, and Rhea felt a glimmer of hope. But even as they shared the light, Rhea couldn't shake the feeling that darkness was always waiting just around the corner, ready to pounce. She took another bite, determined to hold on to this fleeting moment of joy, even as she braced for the inevitable return of fear.