Do you know how many times I’d heard this story before?He always had a way to beat the system. Some “get rich quick” scheme always brewing in his head.
“I just need a couple of thousand,” he went on. “That’s all. In the morning we’ll have a thousand times that. This time it’s going to work. Trust me.”
“Trust me.” Another line I’d heard over and over again.
“Dad. I don’t have any money.”
“Don’t fucking lie to me, Sera.” He stuck his finger out and pointed at me. He was shaking, no doubt from the alcohol.
“Sera . . .” My mother jumped in now. “Just give your father the money. Just give it to him.”
I looked at my mother. Her face was tear-stained. Her hair was matted and unbrushed. She was pale, pasty and flabby looking. She looked like she hadn’t gone outside, exercised or seen the sun in years—which was true. She was a broken shadow of the woman she once was, the vibrant woman who had gone swimming with me as a child. Who’d played hide and seek with me. There was nothing left of that woman anymore. Every trace of her was gone now, and it was all thanks to my father. He was a cancer.
I looked from my sad mess of a mother to my father. He had a wild look about him tonight—more so than usual. “Dad. I don’t have any money.” I said it as calmly as possible.
“You’re lying again.” He was screaming now and waggling his finger just inches from my face. I could smell cigarette smoke and cheap perfume. “What’s this then?” he asked as he moved to the kitchen table and started picking up the brand new big heavy textbooks and reading the prices.
“Two hundred. One hundred and fifty. One hundred and twenty-five . . . I’m guessing you bought these for your sister?” He was waving the big, hardcover biology textbook around now. “So how did you buy her these?”
Without warning, he jumped towards me and pulled my bag off my shoulder. In a moment of pure terror, I managed to push him and he went stumbling backwards like the sorry drunk he was.
And then it happened.Again. The inevitable.
“Don’t push your father like that,” my mother shouted at me, rushing to his side.
After all these years, my mother was still choosing him over us.
I looked at my parents and suddenly all the anger that I usually felt for them evaporated. Instead, I calmly watched my mother pandering to my abusive, drunk father and all I felt was pity. They were sick. They needed help. But they were also poisonous and I couldn’t keep letting them ruin my life—my sister’s either. This had to end—tonight.I needed to change things once and for all.
“Katie. Go get your things. We’re leaving.”
My mother looked at me with a strange look. “Sera? You don’t mean that.”
“Mom. I’m taking Katie with me. Not you. As far as I’m concerned, the landlord can call the cops on both of you. It’s time you sorted yourself out.” I couldn’t believe I’d just said that. But it was time to end this cycle now. Before it was too late.
My sister made a move for her bedroom and then I felt the pain. I wasn’t sure what it was at first, but when I heard the loud thud and looked down, I saw the textbook drop to the floor. My face felt hot and wet all of a sudden. I lifted my hand to it, and my fingers came away red.
It all happened so fast after that. Ben was there. He was screaming at my father. I could hear the words, but it was as if I no longer understood English. I had no idea what he was saying. My head was throbbing too hard to make sense of anything. Katie ran towards me and I felt wobbly, so she sat me down.
My dad and Ben were shouting at each other, and my mother moved herself in between them, until my dad pushed her away. She too fell to the floor, hard, and started crying. My father then pushed Ben and, when Ben hit him, he crashed to the floor. The last thing I saw was Ben grabbing a handful of bank notes and throwing them in my father’s face and then coming towards me.
Then everything went black . . .
65. Shapes And Outlines Of The World
When I woke up, my eyes hurt and they felt sticky, like someone had poured glue into them. I finally managed to open them ever so slightly after a few painful blinks. Through the small gap between my lashes, the shapes and outlines of the world around me came into soft, blurry focus. Everything looked very white. Too white. I blinked a few times until my eyes finally adjusted.
I tried to sit up, but my head protested with a loud, angry thump. I grabbed it and took a deep breath, willing the excruciating pain away. When the hard thumping finally subsided to a dull grind and my eyes fully adjusted to my surroundings, I noticed where I was: A big, white, bright hospital room—a private one with a lounge and a spare bed. I looked around the room feeling confused. I had no recollection of how I’d gotten there, or what had happened. And there was no one there to explain it to me.
But then it slowly came back to me. My dad. My sister. The fight. The textbook. I reached up and touched my forehead, feeling the rough stitches protruding. The second my fingers came into contact with them, I felt an unbearable, sharp pain that made me instantly nauseous. I closed my eyes again, shutting out all the other stimuli so I could concentrate exclusively on quelling the rising nausea and pushing away the pain rippling through my head and radiating down my neck.
With my eyes closed, more flashes of memory appeared: My mother lying on the floor after my father pushed her. My sister. AndBen. Ben hit my father. I suddenly felt a jolt of panic. Where was my sister? Was she okay? Ben? What had happened after I’d passed out?
I turned as I heard the door open. JJ and Ben walked in carrying coffees. They noticed that I was awake and both rushed over to my bedside looking relieved.
“Oh thank God,” JJ said, taking my hand and kissing it. “I was so worried you were going to die.”
“Die? What happened to me?” I screeched. I immediately wished I hadn’t, because screeching pushed me over the pain threshold once again.
