When Bluebirds Fly | ✔

Part One : Chapter Seventeen

There it was again, the black hole. But it wasn't causing emptiness in me, now it had smothering weight. The weight of a giant. And it sat on me, on my chest and stubbornly refused to get up as I gravely struggled for breath.

"Be quiet and don't scream," he warned, roughly pulling me behind a decaying pillar. Whether he said that or not made no difference since words denied to pliantly co-operate with my tongue. He was not touching me, yet his mere presence lingered over my skin which made me tremble. "I repeat, do not scream or you'll have to face consequences."

He was afraid too, afraid of terrorising another person and being caught in the diabolical act.

I could have wickedly heightened his fear by screaming for help, but I was rendered completely immobile when he flashed his phone to me. I stared blankly at the screen, at my own self. But it wasn't a mere reflection, it was me, the vulnerable, naked me.

"Breathe in, Mariana," he cooed in my ringing ears. "Breathe in, love."

I obediently listened to him, inhaling deeply as he flicked through various images of me that became blurry due to the tears that clouded my vision. Maybe, I followed his instructions because I knew that one perilous click would leak all the images online. Maybe, I followed his instructions because I simply wanted someone to tell me what the hell to do.

He finally shut his phone, deciding that these were more than enough to shake me to the core.

"These pictures are safe with me," he said reassuringly. "What happened that night . . . Nobody has to know---"

"W-What happened? Nothing happened!" I shouted hysterically, staggering back and he quickly held me in place by gripping my silky hair.

"Exactly, nothing happened," he murmured, the evil glint in his eyes betraying his words as he thrust his face close to me. "Now, now, don't cry . . . Oh love, don't cry . . . "

The more he said those goddamn words, the more tears fell freely and rapidly.

With his one big hand sinking into my hair, he affectionately wiped my tears with his other calloused hand. "These pictures of yours are safe with me. Nobody is going to see them. Okay?"

I innocently believed him for a split second, it was because of the gentle tone of his gruff voice that made me vacuously think that perhaps, he wasn't that despicable after all. I stiffly nodded and he let go of my hair, pleased. The tears ceased to flow too.

"You told me once that you'll help me," he said slowly as if he was explaining to a clueless child. "That's why I chose you . . . In case, you were wondering . . . "

No, you chose me because I was an easy target, a naive neighbour with no stability in her wretched life.

"All you have to do now is give me some money." He seemed to wince at his own words. At least, he was ashamed of the darkness he was succumbing to and dragging me with him. "It's really simple, you help me and I do the same."

I silently stood swaying on my spot, fidgeting with my fingers.

He tenderly clasped my clammy hands in his and said patiently, "Listen, I heard from your friend's mother that you live on your father's savings. Now a little money from there wouldn't harm . . . "

"Sam's mum?" I was flummoxed, that bitch knew the poverty we lived in and still. "I-I can't take any money from there . . . We can't . . . "

"Yes, you can," he said adamantly, his hold on my hands tightening. He would hurt me, he would hurt me! I could see it in the way he was gritting his teeth. He took a sharp breath, seething inwardly. Then he let out a shaky breath and whispered kindly, his entire demeanour changing, "Yes you can."

With a fatherly pat on my hands, he released them.

"I trust you won't tell anyone, you're smarter than that, love," he said derisively then gestured at his phone. "I'll go, take care of yourself. Wouldn't want anything terrible to happen to you."

I took measured steps back home, cautious as if I was treading on a slippery floor with nothing to hold onto. When I lightly touched the doorknob, the door wildly flung open and my father's face was distorted with unrestrained rage. I began foolishly apologising, but he couldn't hear them as I was absurdly choking. The black hole was violently strangling my throat now and I wanted it to strangle a little harder, to suck the leftover life out of me.

The raw fury on his face melted away like solid ice on a scorching hot day and he asked solicitously, "Mija, are you okay? You look like you caught the flu."

He extended his hand to check my temperature and I impulsively swatted it away. How I let him touch me, but not my own father. I was acting bizarre for some inexplicable reason that I couldn't comprehend.

My father was baffled, but he shifted away, warily allowing me to enter.

"I need to know as your padre, what is going on?" he questioned, but I deliberately ignored him, stalking to my bedroom. I was already making deceiving plans on how to extort money from the bank account and the more I faced my father, the more I had to face my guilt. "Listen to me Mariana, listen to me!"

Every muscle ached as I turned around to give him my muddled attention.

"You're behaving strangely these days and coming home at this hour?" He pinched the bridge of his nose to keep from yelling at me. "You know it's not safe in this neighbourhood. You know your curfew. You're smarter than this Mariana."

You're smarter than this Mariana, don't tell anyone.

"I don't know where you are- what you're doing? I don't know who my daughter is," he said softly, exhaling audibly.

"Well, I don't know where you are or-or what you're doing," I shot back venomously. "I don't know who the hell my father is."

He stared at me thoughtfully, the conflict in his eyes was apparent.

Eventually, he decided to confess, "I'm starting our own advertising business." The tone of his voice then picked up a sort of excitement that I hadn't seen in him for years. "I already gained some trust of my old clients and I'm working on it."

"What about searching for reliable jobs?"

"There are none!" he shouted, then squeezed his eyes shut as if in pain. "I promise I'll make this work. With the savings, I could afford the starting up and I already have contacts- lots of them from my previous company---"

"Wait, you used up all the savings?" I asked incredulously, I could feel the nerve throbbing in my temple.

"I'll make this work, I'll---"

"What will we eat?" I interrupted him harshly. "How will we pay rent? The bills? How?"

How will I get those pictures back?

"I have enough for this month . . . Y-You don't have to worry," he stammered, the doubt from my insolent words surfacing in his eyes. He shook his head firmly. "We'll be alright, you have to trust me---"

I scoffed and slammed my door shut, my knees immediately buckling as I crumbled like cookies on the floor.