Black Fingernails and Silence [ON HOLD]

Chapter Three

[Shock, anger, and deep sadness cascaded over my body. How could Lillian's father have killed her mother? Was it intentional? Or was it just a drunken mistake? Or both? Thoughts raked my brain faster than bullets. I scrunched my watery eyes shut. Maybe I should just take this letter to the authorities..no, that'd make me a bigger coward than her damned father!]

[Wrenching my eyes open, I held her letter, beautiful handwriting with beautiful, dreadful words. My hands shook violently when I continued reading, willing myself to read. Forcing myself to be as strong as young Lillian was.]

Please understand, sir, that it is a horrific thought to fathom. That my dear, caring, mother was killed by my dad. Drunk or not, it was unforgivable. He wasn't even in the room when she died! He went out for a drink to drown his sorrows and deny himself and what he'd done..

I'm sitting against my cool bedroom window, on the roof. The light from my lamp is flooding through my condensation-glossed window and onto the tiles of the sloping roof. My hand is cramping up from how tight my grip is on this pencil. Ha ha! It's my Death Grip. Go on, laugh![I'm sorry, but that was a sick joke, Lillian. I didn't laugh.] Okay..well I thought it was funny.

Well, I'm avoiding the subject because maybe, just maybe, I'm in denial too.[You deserve it, Lillian. Ignorance is bliss! You can do with a bit of paradise..] But I can't be because I have to tell you my story. I need to. This is my only way of getting it out before the pebble of events becomes a boulder, which it will, and rolls down this mountain that is my life.

Anyway, when my mom uh, you know..my dad just left telling the doctors he needed fresh air. Of course, they were sympathetic. Who wouldn't be?

"It was just an accident, hun," one of the nurses soothes close to my ear. She just didn't get it.. Neither did I at that age, I guess.

My father never admitted that he did it out of rage, killing my mother, for the longest time. But he did. Eventually my dad got in a fit of drunk anger, making his face fluster and his fists clench. I was twelve when [Oh god, I know what comes next! I pray to the heavens I'm in denial, too.. Please don't hit her..he wouldn't! Would he..?] he hit me. Beat me for the first of many times. Many years.[My finger started bleeding because I bit through the skin when I was swallowing down the scream threatening to pour out. How could I have never noticed?] I know you never saw them, Mr. Philips, the bruises. It seemed my dad knew the right and wrong places to target me. No facial cuts, bruises, or swelling. Everywhere else, however, was a proud target to my father.

After that first black eye, he made a great investment in liquid foundation (cover up) for my face. Just in case he slipped up on his priorities, you know, forgot his "right and wrong".. [I can't breathe! My jaw clamped shut and I want to find that man and give him what he's given her, and worse! Should I wake my wife? Tell her I can't sleep and need fresh air? Fresh air..just like what Lillian's dad said he wanted. Yet he was simply soaking his tongue with bitter tastes and dangerous words..]