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I clench my fists until my nails bite into my palms. I can’t cry. Crying ruins everything. My makeup, my image, Mother’s hard work. So I force myself to breathe in small, careful sips, though my chest refuses to loosen.
If I can make it to my room, I can disappear again. I can wait until my father’s temper burns itself out. Maybe if I’m quiet enough, he’ll forget I exist.
I wish Asher were here. When he’s home, our parents are obligated to keep up the ruse that we’re a happy family.
Forcing my feet to move, I rush out of the office and down the hall. The house is unnaturally still. No voices coming from the dining room where I had last seen my parents laughing with their guests.
In the foyer, I take off my white Mary Janes to creep upstairs, but before I can take more than a step, a hand catches my arm. With a gasp, I turn to find Mother glaring at me.
“What happened with Toby?” she demands under her breath, keeping her grip tight enough to bruise.
“He wanted me to…” The words dissolve before I can finish. Even thinking of it makes my stomach twist.
Her fingers dig harder into my skin, nostrils flaring.
“When he tells you to do something, you do it. We needed this, Zaiya.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, gently tugging against her grip. “I just couldn’t—”
She shoves me back. “Get up to your room. Your father will be furious.”
My arm throbs where she held me, but I don’t argue. I grab the railing and pull myself up, skipping every other step, desperate now for the fragile safety waiting behind my door.
But when I reach it, I hesitate, my hand resting on the knob.
With a sigh, I step into my room, sealing myself back inside my cage. The only place I’m allowed to exist.
Mother’s touch is everywhere—the floral wallpaper, the white furniture, the pink curtains framing the windows. Even in here, nothing belongs to me.
The dress clings to my damp skin. I tear it off, letting it fall in a heap of polyester and lace before kicking it across the white carpet towards the vanity. Deep breaths fill my lungs, but the relief slips away almost as soon as it comes.
The white nightgown I throw on falls from my bare shoulders to my feet, and I tie the ribbon at the neckline to be certain nothing shows. Then I sit on the edge of the bed that’s covered with the pink quilt I’ve had since I was five. And I wait.
A prayer candle is on my nightstand beside a stack of novels. It’s never worked before, but tonight I need a miracle.
I fish out a box of matches from the drawer and strike up a flame. The hint of sulfur burns my nostrils, a faint whisper of hellfire curling in the dark.
“Please,” I whisper with my eyes closed. “Please let me fix this. I’ll do anything.”
The flame flickers a silent response.
I’ll need to beg my father’s forgiveness, but nothing will impede his wrath.
A knock startles me, and I freeze, staring at the door, waiting for it to open and the hallway light to blind me. The knob turns but sticks.
“Zaiya?”
My brother’s voice cuts through the silence, and I pop up to go to him, but stop short.
The handle rattles as he tries to open it again.
“You can’t be asleep already. It’s only nine.”
I press my hand to the wood separating us. It almost feels like a trick. Like I’m hearing a ghost from the past.
“What are you doing here? You haven’t been home since Christmas.”
“You mad at me?” He tries the doorknob again with no luck. “Look, I’m sorry. Things have been hectic. This is the only break I’ve had.”
