That isn’t the reason I hate going home, though.
Every inch of this place has an unpleasant memory of one sort or another. The entryway where I once saw my father slap my mother’s face for talking back to him. The bathroom down here, where I nursed a wound one night when my father threw a wine glass at me in a fit of rage and it shattered, a glass shard piercingmy palm. The kitchen, tended by an ill-tempered chef, who I swear would poison my father’s meals if he wasn’t under close supervision from the staff.
And on and on it goes. The living room, my least favorite room in the house because of the stifling heat and sickeningly sweet smell of melted candle wax because my mother burns candles to blot out Dad’s cigarette smoke.
Thick pillars in the front lobby like a museum, pristine carpets and wall hangings, plastic-covered furniture. I hate it. I despise it. Loathe every moment of living in this place.
I want out, but according to my father, no daughter of his moves out unless she’s married. And according to him, no daughter of his gets married without his consent.
I’ve considered leaving more times than I can count. I've made my plans, even. I have money squirreled away in a small, secret savings account, and I've sold small pieces of jewelry that he's bought me over the years. Nothing has sentimental value. Nothing has meaning. I know that everything he's bought has been because of what he does and who he is.
But even in an unhappy, unpleasant home, it's scary to think of where I would go. He would always find me.
One time when I was twelve years old, I actually did it. I'm not even sure why, or what instigated it. I packed up my things and left in the middle of the night, and didn't even get as far as the train station. I was discovered by one of his men, brought home, and summarily punished.
He withdrew me from school. I was taught at home with a tutor and lost every privilege.
I haven’t tried since.
Now that I’m a legal adult, he’s given me leave to work in town with a bodyguard stationed nearby, but he thinks I work for a seamstress. He doesn’t pay any attention to my “wee job” because it’s inconsequential to him. He doesn’t need the money, so why should I? Any career I’d pursue is a waste of time, for I’ll end up married in the end anyway.
According to him.
But what he doesn’t know is I’ll never marry. I’d rather be single for the rest of my life than end up wed or, worse, bearing the fucking children, of someone he forces me to be with.
So every time I go home, I’ve come to expect the feeling I get, the overwhelming blend of sadness, apprehension, and fear. I've tried all sorts of tricks to overcome this, but nothing works. Nothing but expecting it, and bracing for it.
The first thing I do when I pull in the driveway is to see if my dad's black SUV is there. It doesn't really matter if it is, because he owns several cars, and he may have loaned the SUV to my brother or one of his men. But still, I somehow convince myself that he is not going to be home if it isn't there. The other reason it doesn't matter is because he isn't the only one I want to avoid.
My brother lurks where my father doesn’t. I dread him almost as much as my father. He's just as evil as he is.
Sometimes I wonder ifIam, if it’s in my DNA.
But today, the black SUV is parked right where it always is. And I know he's inside, because he called for me. He's waiting for me. I have no idea what he wants this time, but it's never good.
I hold my head high and walk to the front door, my heels clicking on the pavement. I like to imagine it empowers me. Sometimes I fear it just makes me more noticeable. My bodyguard is close behind, but he takes a moment to speak with a guard at the door before he comes in behind me. Excellent. This is one of my mini tricks, waiting until they're socializing with one of their friends and making a quick run for it.
I don't even really need to. There's nothing I'm hiding, and I'm not trying to escape. I just want to see if I can do it, in preparation for tonight. There's a certain adrenaline rush in leaving my bodyguard behind and knowing that nobody's with me. So I step in into the foyer, and as soon as his back is turned, I slip quickly into the tiny toilet on the main floor. I shut and lock the door, and listen to see if he’s coming in. I hear his heavy footsteps a few minutes later, and then his voice. He’s speaking in a hushed whisper, for if he lets anyone know he’s lost me, he’ll be punished. I won’t take it that far, though. I may have my methods, but I’m not mean.
So when I hear him start down the hall, I come out.
“Oh, hello,” I say with a smile. “Looking for me?”
His eyes narrow, and he folds his arms across his chest. “Where did you go so quickly, and why?”
“Just came in to powder my nose,” I say with a smile. He doesn’t buy it, but he can’t say anything against me either.
I brush past him, heading to my father’s office. “I have a meeting with my father, no need for you to eavesdrop. I’ll find you when we’re done.”
He shakes his head. “I won’t leave until I have your father’s permission.”
Excellent. Also part of my plan.
“Of course,” I say, nodding. “He doesn’t like to be interrupted, though…” I pull out my phone, pretending to dial my father. “I’ll just tell him you want a word…”
Panic flits across his features, and he blanches. “I’ll be in the kitchen. You do not leave here without coming to get me, understood?”
“Aye, of course.” I flash him a winsome grin. He rolls his eyes and walks away.
