“May God bless her soul for eternal forgiveness,” the pastor said in closing prayer.
Forgiveness? What was that? Did any of us deserve to be forgiven for our sins?
According to my father, I sinned when I breathed. Not for the first time, I wondered why it couldn’t bemewho was being lowered into the grave instead of the one person who had actually cared for me like family should.
“Come on, Scarlett,” my father said, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and pulling me away as dirt was shoveled into the grave, forever sealing away my hope and light. I didn’t want to go. I wanted to crawl into the gaping hole and never come out.
Sadly, I wasn’t given the choice as he steered me away and towards the waiting car with his arm wrapped around my shoulders. Every so often, right as I thought my emotions were going to get the best of me, he’d squeeze me a tad too tight, bringing me back to the present. The pain was just too much. I don’t remember him helping me into the car as I willed my tears to stay locked away tight.
I didn’t cry. Not anymore.
Not since I was a young girl and learned that it made me look weak.
In what seemed to be a blink of time, my father pulled up into the carport beside the old house I’d grown up in. My mind lost to the many things I wished I could change, I made my way into the house, one foot in front of the other, my heart left behind.
“Go change,” he ordered from behind me, his voice no longer soft. “Don’t need that pricy thing ruined while you clean up this mess.” His eyes took me in from head to toe as if I were nothing more than a bug on his shoe.
“Yes, sir,” I said, ducking my head. My voice was meek. Soft.
He huffed, stomping up ahead of me on the stairs.
My legs were sore—heck, my entire body was, as I took each step at a time, using the wobbly banister to keep my body upright.
I was so tired.
“Today, Scarlett.” I heard the threat without it needing to be spoken.
I was tempted to tell him to do it himself. It was at the tip of my tongue; I could taste the words. But, with a sigh, I sped up my steps to my bedroom that hadn’t had a door since I’d learned how to shut and lock it from the inside.
Shivering, I made quick work of stripping my black dress from my body and putting on black yoga pants that were a size too big and a black T-shirt that had ‘Breaking Up With Monday’ stamped across the front in white, bold font.
I hung up the silk and lace dress in the closet. The silk material was soft against my fingertips as I touched it one last time. It was the only nice thing I owned and something I’d never wear again.
Hearing my father in the bathroom, I quickly tossed my blond hair up into a bun and dashed downstairs.
I intentionally missed the step that was the fourth from the bottom, knowing it would groan against my weight and alert him to my presence.
After glancing around the kitchen, I dropped my head to my chest. It was already spotless. There were no specks of grease or dried crumbs on any surface, and the floor was glistening from last night’s scrubbing. The only thing that wasn’t clean was the sink from this morning’s breakfast—one simple bowl, a spoon, and a cup. Sighing, I willed strength to find me but, with my luck, it’d never show.
As I started the water to do the dishes, I heard my father turn the TV on in the living room, switching to the latest sports news channel. His grumbling about every little thing gave me a little peace, because I knew he wasn’t right behind me.
After cleaning the kitchen, making sure every square inch of it shined and sparkled to the best of my abilities, I began to clean up the living room, ignoring my father as he did the same to me.
I cleaned each room, finding nothing out of place. It was my job to keep this house as clean as possible but, truthfully, it was the least of my worries.
By the time I was finally finished with every room of the house, my body dragged with each step I took. My legs shook from exhaustion. My head throbbed from lack of sleep, and my eyes were dry despite the tears that wanted to fall.
My father was snoring away in his room, having gone to bed hours before I ever got close to being finished with my chore list. I was grateful.
It was a very small sliver of luck, finally, to be graced to me.
Taking a quick, cold shower, I washed off the dirt and grime. I didn’t dare take more than five minutes to clean and re-dress in a set of PJ’s before brushing out my waist-length hair and braiding it to the side.
Icouldn’t sleep. I tossed and turned for a few hours before giving up. My body demanded sleep, but my mind wouldn’t give in. It knew what I’d see if I closed my eyes for too long. I spent hours in bed, fighting off my labored breaths.
Instead, I sat on the bench in front of the window, looking out into the black night. Small stars twinkled above and lights from the city glowed in the skyline. A few cars passed here and there. Closer than that, there was nothing and no one for miles. I was as alone in the world as I was in this house.
Leaning my head against the cool windowpane, my tears finally fell in silent misery. I wanted my mom, whoever she may be, to wrap her arms lovingly around me and tell me that everything would be OK. The thin blanket wrapped around my shoulders did nothing to ward off the chill; I wasn’t sure I’d ever be warm again.
