Catharsis [Novel]

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

            Opening the door of my room into the dark hall , I pause and try to get a sense of what to expect before continuing. 

            All the lights are off except for one down the stairs coming from the front room.  That's good news for my sensitive eyes.  The muted and reflected glow off the far wall is easily tolerable. 

            I can hear my father breathing in the front room; it’s a soft and heavy whoosh of air that tells me he's calm and near sleep but still conscious (Why?  Why do I know that?).  I can smell subtle hints of fear and worry in the air mixed with an underlying tone of anger that stings my nose (Once again, how is this something I can smell?).  He's been up all night, and he's not happy.

            Sighing, I resign myself to whatever reprimands the next few minutes might hold for me.  Moving down the stairs as quietly as possible (I make no sound at all.  Literally none.), I step into the kitchen without turning on any lights.  I still don't need to.  Being able to see in this darkened room is simple. 

            Before my bare feet even touch the cold tile of the room, I notice the competing fragrances.  The smells are everywhere, and they're overwhelming.  I can smell every box of opened food in the pantry.  There are faint hints of sealed foods that haven't even glimpsed the light of day yet.  I breathe in the aromas and smile having never noticed the wondrous smells of our kitchen before.  It's glorious.

            After carefully getting out a plate and fork without making a noise (Any noise.  At all.), I turn my attention to the refrigerator and its bountiful stores.  If any food came home last night, it will be in there.  Without thinking (And here I blame my tummy for its distracting effect.), I bend over and open the fridge door to get a peek at what's inside.  This move puts my face level with the fridge's light that springs on as soon as the door opens.

            Instant blinding pain shoots through my eyes and pierces the hair on the back of my skull.  Howling a curse, I slam the heavy metal door back into place and tumble away from the horrendous appliance that just blinded me.  I can't see anything except stabbing white flashes in my eyes followed by dancing black spots.  The pain is dizzying.  Sitting and cursing is all I can do until the pain subsides (Well, my cursing that is...poopy pickle, and crap hats, loaf-licker and the like.  I'm still at home, and under my mother's roof.  I'm not crazy enough to utter anything that would offend her on the off chance she might hear.  I'm in pain and possibly going insane...not stupid.).

            Within seconds of starting my crazed, gibberish-infused rant, I realize I'm no longer alone.  I sense my father is next to me in the kitchen (I can smell his scent - Davidoff cologne mixed with laundry soap and old person pheromones - and I can hear his breathing.).

            "Christ, Catarina!" He exclaims next to me, and I giggle a little on the inside.  It always makes me smile when he puts my name next to the Lord's.  Forgive me, but the alliteration of that particular sin just tickles me.  "What is wrong with you?"

            "Ugh," I reply as articulately as possible.  My eyes are still watering from the blast, but they are clearing quickly.

            In an attempt to be helpful, my father does the worst possible thing he can at that moment.  What he does is more painful than anything I can remember in my previous decade and a half of life.

            He turns on the kitchen light.

            The room flares to a horrifying whiteness around me just as I manage to get my eyes open to look at my father.  The intense wave of pain that washes through me is more than I can take.

            My brain shuts down to protect itself from the attack, and that’s the last thing I remember before my world goes black.