Her Silence

Chapter Eight

"We do not remember days, we remember moments." Cesare Pavese

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I wake up mid dream to a thud. Clattering followed and I sit up and scramble out of my bed, fumbling around in the dark in attempt to find the light switch, slipping over on something as I do so. With the light now on I feel around on the floor and underneath me is a slip of paper with a simple, 'Goodbye Rosie' written on it. It was Dad's writing. Was he leaving? Why? He can't leave me. I can't be sent to live with Mum. Mother. I decided on calling her Mother a while ago – 'Mum' is too homely, too loving: all of which she wasn't. Whilst I'm up I figure I may as well go to the toilet and then ask Dad why he is saying goodbye. I'm sure I can persuade him to stay. As I get to the bathroom, I notice the door is shut but I can't hear anyone in there. Dad must have left the window open to air the bathroom after he had a shower but shut the door to stop a draft blowing through the house. I push down on the door handle, and whilst the door opens ever so slightly, I can't physically push it any further. What on earth? I run to Dads room to ask him to help me but his bed is empty and the sheets are pushed back. Is he downstairs? No, not downstairs. Not in the garden. Well he must be in the bathroom, because the front door is locked, and the keys are still on the rack. I run back upstairs and call his name several times. I begin hammering on the door.

"Dad I know you're in there. Come out and say goodbye to me properly! If you want to leave you can leave, if it makes you happier you can leave. I'll live with Mother and you can leave and be happy." I say through sobs. I'm lying, of course. I don't want him to leave, nor do I want to live with Mother. "Please stay." I whisper. My calls and hammering clearly aren't working, so I start shoving on the door with my shoulder. I'm slim with a weak frame, so this doesn't do much good, but I keep trying and trying until my shoulder aches. I'm broken out of this trance by a knock on the front door. I run down the stairs and glance at the clock on the wall. Who on earth would want to come knocking at half past two in the morning? I grab the umbrella with the pointy end from the corner of the porch and open the door, leaving it on the latch. Much to my surprise I see the middle-aged couple from next door both in their dressing gowns with concerned looks on their faces.

"Is everything alright Rosie? We could here you screaming through the walls and then repeated banging. Can we do anything?"

"Yes! My Dad is being ever so mean and is in the bathroom but is against the door so I can't get in. He wrote on a piece of paper that he was saying goodbye, and he's being coward and won't come out of the bathroom to say goodbye to me in person. I bet he's thinking about climbing out of the bathroom window and running away." The couple look at each other with a twisted look on their faces and the woman goes pale. She turns to her husband.

"You go Rob. I'll stay here with Rosie."

"No! I'm coming with you to confront him." Rob looks down at me with a raised eyebrow, a face I won't ever forget, and puts his hands on my shoulder.

"Listen kid, I need you to stay here with Jane. She's scared of the dark you see. I'll go in and talk to your Dad, and then I'm sure he'll come down and say goodbye, okay?" Rob seemed scary so I agree with him. As he turns to go onto the house, I tug on his sleeve.

"Can you, erm... can you maybe ask him if he'd stay?" I ask quietly. Rob smiles at me sadly, as though he knew a secret I didn't. I stand with Jane, quizzing her on why she is scared of the dark when there are streetlights lit up along the road. A few minutes later I here Rob yelling for Jane, but I beat her too it and shoot past her to run up the stairs. A smile is on my face because I know that Rob has gotten Dad out of the bathroom.

"Rosie don't you dare come in here!" He roars, but I don't listen. How selfish of him to keep me away from my Dad when he saw how upset I was. I charge through the bathroom door and stop. I just stop and scream, but nothing comes out. There was dark red, thick blood oozing from my Dad's mouth and a needle jabbed into his black and bruised arm. My head hits something sharp and I then wake up to bright lights, blue curtains, and the discomfort of a hospital bed.

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"I can't tell you anymore." James is holding me and cooing in my ear whilst I sob into his shoulder. The image of my Dad being slumped up against the bathroom cupboard unresponsive won't ever leave me, it's engrained into my brain. I squeeze my eyes shut to try and get rid of it for the time being. James apprehensively asks whether me fainting caused me to lose my ability to talk, to which I reply it was. After waking up in hospital quite a few days later after finding my Dad, having been in and out of consciousness, I was told that I had hit my head directly on the Broca's area. They said that the impact in which it was hit was identical to the amount of stress a stroke may put it through, resulting in me completely losing the ability to talk. I was immediately thrown into sign language lessons, and thirteen years later I'm fluent in it with a massive scar underneath my head of hair.

"Being part bald wasn't a good look. When it started growing back, I looked even worse." I sign lazily, making James laugh heartily.

"I doubt you looked that bad." I smile. Having calmed down greatly, I continue to tell James that my Mother blamed me wholesomely for my Dad's death and twice in these past thirteen years has tried to ruin me. At the age of fourteen she attempted convincing my school that I should be home-schooled. She had no intention of fulfilling this idea, and only wanted to limit my chances of having a future. At the age of nineteen, she told where I worked at the time that I had stolen money from her and shouldn't be allowed my place at the job because I couldn't be trusted. Neither times did she succeed, and the attempts weren't exactly soul destroying, but she certainly had it in for me. Which is why I am convinced it's my Mother behind everything going on at Tidy. Of course, she isn't personally stealing the money as I'm sure she's manipulated someone into doing that for her, but it all has to be her. The man who had a stroke, everyone suddenly turning against me. My Mother is always the fire starter, and something tells me that this time she won't stop until it has spread and caused all possible damage.

*****

This chapter got deep... remember it is only fiction, but makes Rosie who she is.

How do you now feel about Rosie, knowing her past? I'm hoping it helps you explore her character even more!

Don't forget to vote! Comment on your favourite parts and add her Silence to your library if you want to find out more and read on!