Fix me

Chapter 18

Chapter 18

I awoke to voices. Voices screaming in my head, reverberating in my mind, like a jack hammer. I grabbed my head, hissing in pain. It felt like someone was slowly splitting it open, pulling it apart. Aching. I had drool on my bottom lip, dripping down my chin. I made a disgruntled noise and wiped it away, cleaning my fingers on the white blanket.

It was then that I realized I was sitting up in bed. My bed. The bed Jeremy had forced himself on me. The bed Jeremy had ruined me on. The bed I vowed never to be in again. “Please,” I pleaded, begged. “Please, don’t do this,” “Shut up!” he climbed on top of me, holding my down. “You need to learn.” He started touching me. I screamed and he slapped me. “Don’t scream.”

I quickly jumped up, nearly falling off the bed. In my haste to get out, my stomach protested, threatening to spill last night’s drinking binge down my shirt.  Sure that it would happen, I threw open my bedroom door and ran into the bathroom down the hall just as the vomit crawled up and fell into the white porcelain of the now full toilet.

I heaved, everything leaving my body as my energy drained. I have never known a feeling of sickness quite like this. When I had finished, I flushed, not bothering to look in the mirror as I walked out, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand.

It was then that I heard the voices again. They were coming from downstairs and they did not sound happy. They were borderline yelling, stiff, and familiar. I was almost afraid to listen in and look.

I creeped down the stairs, making sure to make as little noise as possible. I held my breath and walked only on the balls of my feet, fearing what would happen if they knew I was up. I wasn’t sure if I was absolutely ready to share with them about last night’s events.

In the living room, I saw two figures. One, my dad, was standing with his arms crossed, his feet apart, and his head hung low. I had seen him pose like that enough times to know that he was stressed out and pissed about something. His hair was sticking up in some places, as if he had run his fingers through it repeatedly. His shoulders sagged and he appeared hunched over. I have never seen him look so vulnerable. I didn’t get a good look at his face.

The other figure was pacing the room, her arms swinging from side to side. She didn’t look as run down as my father, but there was an air around her that oozed exhaustion. Her clothes were wrinkled, her make up ruined. Her eyes were red and her hands shook. She clenched them into fists as she spoke, her voice, like her hands, vibrating. “- lucky you never got that door fixed.” Mom was saying to my dad as thin and cold as ice. “I finally managed to get in after hitting against it for a while,” I cringed, mostly from the headaches that debilitated my body, but also her words.” Maybe if you spent more time at home with your daughter, you-.” she stopped, realizing her mistake too late.

My dad laughed, sharp and humorless. “That’s rich,” he snarled. “You telling me that I should be home more. I should follow your perfect mother example, hmm?” I should have gone back to my room. I didn’t want to hear this I didn’t want to hear this I didn’t want to hear this.

My mom was silent. Dad took this as an opportunity to say more. To get his anger out that he had hidden so well inside of him for the last 11 months. “Were you ever going to give us a proper explanation? Were you ever going to give us a proper goodbye? Were you ever going to apologize rightly to us? Apologize to me?” With every word, his voice grew louder and louder until finally, he paused and I heard his heavy breathing, knowing he was trying to compose himself.

“I can’t do this now,” He said softly, as if the fight had deflated out of him. “I just can’t.” I heard his heavy footsteps begin to walk in my direction, out of the room and away from her, and I was about to run back upstairs when my mom stopped him.