Silent Secrets

Chapter XI

AN:

Attention readers! I have made/will be making some editing changes to the previous chapters!

1) I have changed the reason Jaz was fearful of speaking. It should not be because she's afraid she's forgotten how, but because she's afraid of someone hurting her, as her father did whenever she spoke out of turn.

2) I am debating on turning this into a 3rd person POV. I think it'll be useful further down the road (like, in book VI or something) What are your guys' thoughts?

3) Enjoy!

* * *

I dozed off for a time, locked in the twilight zone between wakefulness and sleep. Morning light had slit the darkness between the floor and the door before I fully shook herself from my daze. I blinked away the last fuzzy tentacles of sleep and jerked upright, listening intently for sounds of drunken movement downstairs. Surely my father would be hungover after all the brandy he'd consumed last night. Though, now that I thought of it, I'd never seen him hungover, despite having seen him massively drunk.

I shrugged. "What does it matter?" I asked aloud, surprising myself. I remembered whispering to the dark in the early hours before dawn, though it had felt more like a dream, and less like I was truly speaking. Now, though, it felt like a dam had broken inside me; words slipped out without my conscious decision to speak. It was a strange sensation, but it made me feel...free.

Yet, I knew as well as anyone that freedom was dangerous. Maybe I knew it better than others--I understood what freedom did. It got to one's head, made one feel invincible, safe, and boundless. It made one feel weightless, as though they could leap into the skies and fly like a bird.

The simple reality was freedom was just another kind of drunken addiction--it muddled one's mind, caused them to do stupid things, and in the end, no one truly regretted their actions or choices.

I stretched, extending my legs as far as I could in the cramped space and pushing my arms upward, my mouth falling open in a yawn. I considered peeking out to gauge the time, and possibly discover what my father was up to, but fear stayed my hand. Perhaps if I was perfectly good, he would forgive my conspicuous absence last night. After all, I often fled the house for extended periods of time--a habit I had developed when I was seven. He didn't know where I went, and he didn't need to know where I was last night.

"Oh, who am I kidding?" I whispered. No matter how perfect I was, he would find fault. No matter how well I behaved, he would remember my disappearance. And he would drag every secret from me, even if it was from my near-dead frame.

I sighed, drawing my knees back up to my chest. There was nothing I could do from here, and initiating my own start to the day was too dangerous. I would have to wait, alone in the dark, until he called for me. And when he did call, I needed to be prepared with a lie--a lie that would protect both Remus and myself.

I leaned back against the wall and closed my eyes, thinking.

* * *

The door shuddered and boomed with the force of the fist pounding on its flimsy surface. I jolted awake, my eyes wide with horror.

A sharp click echoed through the small space. I stood anxiously, leaning forward to try and peep through the keyhole. The handle twitched, then jerked open, sending me lurching forward. I ran into something warm and strong, that instantaneously shoved me backward into the closet.

"Miserable little wench!" my father snarled, dusting off his jacket. "How dare you touch me with your filth!"

I pulled my knees to my chest and hugged myself, tears blurring my gaze. Would it kill you to catch me for once? I thought, furiously blinking back the betraying drops of pain. Now that I thought about it, though, I wasn't sure I trusted him to catch me. If he ever did, I'd suspect some ulterior motive. No matter what he told me, I would never believe he'd catch me out of the goodness of his heart.