Page 4 of The Silent Princess

“Wakey, wakey, lazy birdie,” she chants, bursting into my room and yanking the single curtain open before storming back out. I work from nine p.m. to one a.m. By the time I get off the bus, I'm in bed by two am. Mara wakes me up at seven sharp, day after day. I'm lucky if I get five hours of sleep and a short ten-minute power nap in the afternoon. That's no way to live, I often tell myself. I guess I've learned to live with my own definition of normal. What I'd give for seven hours of uninterrupted sleep, no nightmares, and the chance to wake up, get ready, and spend my day studying. I'd give all the money in the world, every little treasure I own, and the clothes on my back.

Everything except my necklace. My mother's. A small golden heart-shaped locket hanging from a delicate chain, with a picture of the three of us inside from when I was little. My only treasure. My only personal possession the twins haven't dared steal from me.

“Your mother would be so proud,” he says. “Watching you become exactly who you want to be.” Grief takes hold of my hand at those words. Nothing is okay, Dad. I haven't sat in a classroom for months. I clean paper bins and dust offices so that one day... One day, maybe…Mom wouldn't be proud. She wouldn't understand the mess my life has become or why I wasn't able to be loved by Mara and earn my place in this family. Mom taught me about unconditional love, and so I naively thought that our new family would love me too. Now I'm a pawn on a chessboard, and the queen is winning, moving straight toward me.

I'm holding on.

I'm trying, Dad.

I really am.

“Food for thought, hmm?” he offers, his familiar expression never failing to light up the little room inside my chest where I keep all my childhood memories. There's dust on the furniture and piles of happiness forgotten beneath the clutter, but it still exists. “Even if it's hard, you'll never regret learning, honey. Trust me. I know you're putting in long hours. Mara told me you spend so much time at the library, and that's why I don't get to see you more often. But I'm glad you do, love. You're building your future, and I couldn't be prouder.” I conceal my true feelings, squeezing his hand. How could she lie to him? Isn't a wife supposed to take care of her dying husband? If Mom were here, things would be so different. In a way, I'm grateful she's hiding what I'm really doing during the long hours I spend running around and cleaning for her and the twins, but…I can't help wishing I had somebody in my corner.

“I...” I start signing. “Thanks, Dad. I hope it'll work out.” Dishonesty striking again, hiding behind a version of the truth where he can't be hurt. A few months or a few years, the doctors said. That's all he has left. I may not succeed in leaving this place before it crushes me, but I won't let them crush his spirit. I will lie. I will debase myself. I will scrub dirt and spit blood into the sink. I will hide my sorrow and force myself through the exhaustion, plaster a smile on my face, and bring him his favourite food. I will let every insult roll off me, and I will carry on. Grateful, brave, kind. Just like Mom taught me.

I press the remote and change channels until I find his favourite soap opera. Something about a Latin family filled with drama and pre-recorded laughter: they're all so pretty, with nice hair and beautiful clothes. The set is nice too. A mansion, kind of like this one, actually. If I look closely enough, I can almost smell the hairspray Mara enjoys so much. I watch the show, and if I didn't know any better, I'd think this was my life. But things are so different behind closed doors, aren't they?

“What are you up to...” He coughs. “...today, kiddo? Don't you have class today?” It's Thursday. I worked until two last night, and I'll work again tonight. It's ten o'clock, and my stomach is already growling from the small amount of food I managed to buy for myself. Mara woke me up early today, her little bell dragging me out of my dreams. She left me a list of things to do on the kitchen counter. I guess that'll keep me busy for the rest of my free time. Little stars dance in my vision, begging me to sleep, but I ignore them. I'll try to find ten minutes for a power nap this afternoon. I'd sleep on the bus if I could, but I'm always afraid someone might steal my bag or rip my necklace from my neck.

One day I'll rest.

One day.

“Not today, no. The teacher was...ill. I have classes this afternoon,” I sign.

“Ah, right, right. Well, that happens.”

“Do you want something from the kitchen?”

“I'm alright, honey. A bit...tired. I'll just watch...” He motions with his chin toward the screen. “Is Mara, um...around?” he murmurs like her name shouldn’t be said out loud.

“I'll get her,” I sign.

“Thanks, sweetie. And...you're alright with her, right? The four of you? Everyone's getting along?”

“Yes. We are like...family.”

“Great, great,” he says in a whisper. “Family is everything, Ella. Everything.”

Oh, I know, Dad. I know. That's why I'm still here. In the name of family. To love you is to stay within striking distance of the snakes living in this house with us, Dad. There's no way out for me. I bleed either way. Staying means suffering. Leaving means losing him. There's no relief in sight. No light at the end of the tunnel. Either way...I bleed.

After checking on my dad, I make my way to the kitchen, hoping to grab a quick snack before getting started on Mara's list. Her back is to me when I arrive. A perfect blonde updo is folded against her head like the petals of a rose. Did I mention how much she hates it when I enter a room she's in? It isn't written anywhere, but the first floor generally isn't for me to wander through, unless I'm cleaning it. Her narrow waist is enhanced by the cream two-piece suit she's wearing. Musk and patchouli, with a hint of coffee. She's pressing the button on the espresso machine. Even waiting for a cup of coffee somehow looks expensive on her. I open the fridge beside her, and she startles at the sight of me.

“Christ.” Long, thin fingers spread on her chest; she exhales. “You should wear a bell. I never hear you walking around the house.” I give her a tight nod, failing to smile, mouthing a sorry. Mara is smart, the head of her design company with more than a hundred employees, scattered across the country. She's the face of Ethereal Design, designing high-end projects for people with millions to spare. Her late husband built the brand, and she carried it on after he died. “Your under-eye bags aren't improving,” she comments as I turn on the kettle. I let the remark slide, reminding myself of my promise. Endure and keep going, and one day, one day, maybe I'll be fine. I'll have enough to pay for my dad's electric stairlift, for my studies, Mara and the twins will feel like family, and I'll be okay. Maybe not happy, but things will be better. I just need to hold on, work hard, and make my dreams a reality. Everything is my fault, and everything is up to me. No one is responsible for my happiness but me. Not even Mara. I'm not a victim. I'll find a way to make the most of what I've been given.

“You know,” she begins, turning and resting her hip against the counter, espresso in hand, pinky raised, “out all night,” she trails off. “God knows where with... God knows who,” she adds, her voice low and cutting, while I keep pouring hot water into my cup of green tea. I was working, I sign. Mara and the twins know how to read sign language. They even know the most basic signs to communicate with me. Only they never do. Leaving me alone in my mental cage, keeping the locks firmly in place. After thirteen years with Mara, I don't even bother pretending to be offended.

“Working,” she repeats. “Where?”

“In the city.”

“Mmh. And what kind of work would a young lady like you find during the late hours of the night...?” I blush, her words carving pieces out of me with their sharpness. I'm about to confess what I do when she continues, “Never mind. I don't care, as long as you're not in my house.” I take the teabag and absentmindedly swirl it around the water. Her house. Not home. I'll let it slide, like everything else she does. I'm grateful she hasn't asked for half my paycheck, like she did two months ago when she accused me of keeping the light on one morning. She didn’t try again, though. Perhaps she knows that would push me too far and I'd tell my dad. It's a tightrope she's walking, keeping me on a leash, giving me just enough freedom to make me believe I still have options.

“Here.” She grabs a note and slaps it onto the marble countertop. “Don't forget the cutlery this time. It'd be too bad if you had to use your next paycheck to pay for your carelessness.” I don’t ever bother responding.

“Dad asked for you.” She sighs, glances at her gold watch, then disappears without another word into my father's bedroom. What do they talk about? Was there ever love between them? Dad is fond of her for reasons I don't grasp. But Mara...Mara always looks at him like a wounded dog she wishes she could put down.

A small part of me wonders if she married him for his money and to pay off the debts I once overheard her discussing on the phone with one of her associates. But would someone stay thirteen years with a dying man just for his wallet? I can't think like this. Mara's mean to me, but she's not evil. She wouldn't do such a thing. That's what villains in movies do. And I'm sure that, in time, I'll find a way to see what Dad once saw in her. I finish my quick lunch, needing to tackle her list as soon as I can if I want to be on time for my shift tonight.