Silence Protect Me

Her room.

Her rumpled bedclothes lay strewn over the disarrayed mattress, the harsh crimson of her beloved satin sheets clashing deathly with the white of the uncovered mattress. The imprint of where she lay drunkenly on the silk was still clear, a dark stain on her matching pillows where she had unconsciously drooled.

Her room

I remember how much she nagged Dad for the money to buy those luxurious sheets, back before he gave up and let her have unlimited access to his funds. For months she pleaded, begged, threatened, bribed, shouted, whispered, argued, made up, bugged and eventually coated Dad with a veil of dissatisfied silence. The only time she broke her silence was to make undercover jibes at Dad, stating a real, caring husband would dote on whatever needs she presented. That was about five years ago, back when I was ten, when Deedee was just a gifted six-year-old and Tyler was hardly a citizen of Earth.

Even back then I thought such a carry-on over sheets was stupid.

My feet slid quietly over the floorboards, trembling at every sudden noise. I almost didn’t dare to breathe. My mind was positive that with one false step, I would set off an intricate alarm system and my mother would rush back home to cause more damage. Although, it still wasn’t convinced she had even left the house. My thoughts whispered that she was probably hiding in the closet, waiting to jump out and catch me at the scene of the crime. I shook my head wryly. I had to think that just as I passed the closet, didn’t I?

It would be easy to hide in there, though. The “closet” was actually a huge room, dedicated to housing my mother’s carefully hoarded trinkets. Not many of the items in there are even wearable. My mother just needed a place to put her stuff, and the extra-clothes room thing was a good excuse. The room was originally meant to be Tyler’s. But, my mother disliked the idea of having something alive and kicking so near her living dead state, so she shunted him into a much smaller guest room. Now when people come to stay, they have a choice of my, Deedee’s or Dad’s room to camp out in. Tyler’s room barely fits him as it is.

And my mother despises sharing valuable breathing space.

I think she and Dad only shared a bed and room for about a year of their married life. No, not even that long. It was around my ninth birthday that I could remember Dad moving all of his things into the larger spare room. So, really they only shared for about half of the time I originally thought. They occasionally must have gotten drunk and desired some… intimate… company, though. Tyler is honest proof of that.

Originally Dad shared this house with my half-sibling Frankeito and his ex wife Claudia. She and my Dad had divorced, but, because Dad had no desire to screw Frankeito up (doesn’t this sound familiar?) they traded being spouses for sharing a home. Of course, this arrangement went belly-up when Claudia started a serious relationship with another man. He proposed to Claudia and that’s when she realised her and Dad’s arrangement couldn’t work. If she married her new man, he’d have to move into the house too, and having Dad around would probably bring unwanted tension (her and my Dad had already agreed they were fine with dating other people, but she knew this would be a whole new kettle of fish). Plus, it would confuse Frankeito, and Claudia and Dad had already adamantly agreed this was one thing they did not want to do. So, Claudia moved out with Frankeito, got married and they all moved away to a nice house in another state. And that’s when Dad made another stupid mistake.

He went back to find his two illegitimate children and married my mother, believing foolishly that his magical appearance would make everything hunky-dory.

Honestly, who comes out of one failed ideal and launches themselves headfirst into another one that is even worse? It’s- it’s just plain idiotic. Who would put themselves through that much hassle? I wouldn’t. If I were my Dad (which I’m obviously not), the minute Claudia moved out I would…. I would… Well, I’d do anything but go saddle myself with two extra kids, marry a whore and then proceed to make another one. To be honest, I see all of us kids as complete liabilities. I don’t see why people have children on purpose. I just don’t. There’s something in me that just cannot cope with kids.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the reason I spend most of my time in my own room.

I turned my attention over to my mother’s beside make-up cabinet, unwilling to keep thinking about my siblings. Oddly enough, I felt guilty. They share the same blood as I, the same DNA, and yet, for some reason, I cannot bring myself to go anywhere near them out of my free will. Also- try as hard as I might, however hard I search, I’m not sure I… well… love them. It’s confusing. Every time I try to associate my siblings and “love”… My brain grinds to a complete halt, after conducting a fruitless search for a spark of emotion regarding the mention of Deedee and Tyler. They’re just- there, I don’t know. I don’t hate them (although Tyler does tend to get on my bad side. A lot). But, I don’t… love… them either.

No wonder Beth calls me the living example of neutral. I can’t even conjure up one speck of brotherly… love… for my siblings!

The make-up cabinet is set so close to my mother’s bed for one reason and one reason only. Vanity. She cannot bear to be imperfect for even one moment. Her beauty regime must start the moment consciousness breaks through her heavy layer of sleep. From dawn’s first gaze through her eyelids, things must start to be plumped, primped, crimped, twirled, coated, covered, powdered, wiped, stained, dyed, plucked- everything she needs to look like a Greek Goddess to her lowly mortal peers. Some people call that kind of obsessive behaviour a sign of insecurity. I don’t. My mother, she cannot be insecure. Insecure people are meek. My mother just wants everyone to know whom she is and how low they have to stoop to kiss her lingering radiance.

My mother had told us kids never to look in her drawers without her there. Or the gist of that, at least. I can’t be too sure. My mother has never made a habit of stating things politely. Anyway, basically if we stick one finger in any of the cabinet compartments without Her Royal Highness present, our lives won’t be worth living. Of course, I pay this warning no heed. Tyler visits our mother’s cabinets all the time and has yet to be put to death. Where else would he have found that bright red lipstick to paint his cheeks with Native American markings?

Then again, I think if the house was on fire and my mother could only save one son, she’d shove me headfirst into the flames to get to Tyler.

My hand clutched the first drawer’s handle, long fingers wrapping around the cheap metal fixture and pulling gently. Nothing happen. I sighed, flexing my fingers and dared to pull slightly harder. God, I am so wimpy sometimes I even embarrass myself. I would work out, I would- if there wasn’t any sweat involved. I hate feeling sweaty and disgusting. If I wanted to get all salty and wet, I’d go bathe in the sea (and I hate the beach anyway).

The cabinet shuddered slightly, moving forward from the wall with my every tug. I immediately stopped, looking down at my hand in puzzlement. I flexed my fingers around the handle. Why couldn’t I open the stupid thing? If Tyler can do it with no hassle, shouldn’t it mean I could do it with even more ease? Maybe there’s a knack to it, I thought, jiggling the drawer experimentally. The cabinet made an odd percussion sound that immediately made my stomach clench, but other then that, no affect whatsoever.

I quickly gave up on the first drawer, instead kneeling down to wrench at the second. The first drawer probably is stuck anyway, and contains nothing. I wasn’t about to waste time continually trying to open something jammed shut. No, the smart thing to do is go with a process of elimination. My mother is the kind of person that would stick identical kits of make-up in each drawer anyway, just in case one day she couldn’t quite remember which one to look in.

Knowing her, that probably happens a lot.

Success! The drawer slid open smoothly- before jarring into a stationary position half way through opening. Oh well. At least it was part of the way open. Besides, my slim flat fingers would fit through easily. Pianist fingers, Beth called them (or at least she called them that before some idiot in the school-yard overheard her and parodied her statement by calling me “Penis Fingers”). My hand began to climb through the unclear gap, wriggling slightly around the obstacle course of unseen potions and lotions. Smooth plastic lids made my hand slide deeper into the drawer, my nails scraping uncomfortably on the back wall-

Hang on.

My fingers suddenly enclosed on something that felt sort of strange, before letting go in sheer fright. I cursed at myself for letting go, curious to see what the item I had felt was. It had been soft and elastic- kind of like rubber, only with a gentler texture. The bottom part of it felt like an egg on top of a wide tube, but with two equal points stemming from the odd shape. I really couldn’t fathom any idea of what it might have been. My fingers roamed back over the cosmetic prairie inside the drawer, hovering over items that also felt interesting but weren’t quite the same. My hand bumped into a small velvety object housing a hard plastic cylinder before finally enclosing again on the mysterious object. With a jerk of my wrist, I triumphantly pulled it out of the drawer, eager to gaze upon my discovery.

In the palm of my hand lay a small rabbit’s head, made entirely of a semi-transparent purple rubber.

I gazed at the object in confusion, turning it over in my palm. What on earth was this doing in my mother’s make-up cabinet? I couldn’t see it being a perfume dispenser shaped like a little rabbit, nor revolutionary mascara applied using bunny ear technology. In my head I was going through the latest make-up commercials, scanning all of them for some mention of rabbits. The closest reference I could find had something to do with the girls of the Playboy mansion- no, wait; that was just a reality TV commercial.

How odd. Why just a rabbit’s head and not a whole rabbit form? I squeezed it gently, my focus immediately caught by the noticeable hole in the bottom of the neck. Aha! So… It might have snapped off something, but I still had no idea what. All it really reminded me of was a child’s toy, something a really little one would teeth on.

A child’s toy.

The answer became clear in my mind at once. Of course! The rabbit must have been a toy of Tyler’s. He had taken it with him when he went plodding along to find some war paint- and then had left it behind after being distracted completely by our mother’s lipstick! Of course, this didn’t account for the reason the rabbit was missing its body, but it was the closest theory I had. Maybe he had snapped the body off by accident and discarded it in the drawer. It was unlikely, seeing as Tyler is a bit of a hoarder, but I had to check. As much as I dislike Tyler at times, it would be cruel to just sit by and let him be found out. That’s what Beth would probably say. God, she’s starting to seem more like my conscience then my best friend, now.

I had to get the other half of the rabbit out.

My arm slid into the drawer snake-like, writhing around in a panic. Fingers flexed against the back wall of the drawer, clawing around the sides- but to no prevail. I scattered various bottles and jars as I felt their cool smooth lids under my palm. Nothing felt remotely like the other half of a rabbit toy. No small nub of a tail did I feel on any round objects, neither the familiar groves found where feet had been attached. As I searched, I was bitterly reminded of a Physics story I had stumbled across (on the Internet or in class, I have no idea where). A scientist had taken a kitten and shut it completely in box, so he could not see or hear the little cat. The experiment was supposed to prove that the cat could be alive yet dead at the same time; unless he actually checked inside the box, he couldn’t logically think that the cat could be alive or dead. It was supposed to prove something about the power of checking- I can’t really remember.

The other half of the bunny could be in the drawer, or it could be somewhere else entirely.

Without actually looking with my eyes, I couldn’t be sure. I could have been just missing it by inches each time my fingers searched. Then again, as I mentioned before, it maybe wasn’t there at all.

Only one way to find out without making my head explode, I thought grimly. The finding of the bunny’s body had become a small obsession, pushing aside my prior intentions to just find some make up. It was now crucial for me to find it- to prove I could care about someone if I wanted to. Echoes of my previous thoughts had bounced back from the last wall of my skull, reminding me of my cold and distanced nature.

This was the spark I needed to start a fire. And without me blowing on the flame, it was doomed to be extinguished prematurely.

My hands yanked at the drawer from the inside, longer nails committing suicide against the hard textured wood. Miscellaneous objects clattered together as I pulled with all my strength. Something suddenly gave, be it potion bottle or jar of beauty I know not.

And I found myself lying on the floor, my chest slowly being crushed by a disembodied drawer.

“Argggh,” I groaned quietly, going cross-eyed as I stared at the wall of wood centimetres from the tip of my nose. Any more force and it could have been broken.
My nose may not be one of the most refined in the world, but I prefer it staying the shape I was born with and the shape my DNA dictates.

I used my remaining arm strength to slide the drawer off of my person, wincing as it banged on the floor like a hit to a bass drum. My chest heaved and ballooned, trying to make up for lost oxygen by sucking in all the air it could. I felt my eyes turn to the ceiling for a moment as I detached my mind from my heaving lungs. How many black specs had dared to mar the untouchable ceiling? How many pieces of dirt had flown in and made a home for themselves around my mother’s room? Secretly we all live in pigsties.

Bacteria are living proof that something doesn’t have to be able to be seen by the naked eye to exist.

As soon as my lungs had taken their share and regulated, I let my mind take over again. The drawer was out. Excellent! The bunny’s body couldn’t hide from me in plain sight. Unless it wasn’t there, but I wouldn’t let that thought deter me.

I jumped up into a crouching position, my hands leaning on the sides of the drawer.
Inside was a treasure trove of beautifiers, a sea of pastel lids containing youth-granting mixtures and bottles of liquid longevity. I whispered the names of the golden labels like a mystical chant as my eyes slowly tracked across the product plain. Maybe the Goddess of Beauty would aid me in my search if I chanted enough, I joked to myself. Although, if people like my mother could easily become her disciple, maybe she wouldn’t feel too inclined to help me.

After awhile I frowned. There was no bunny body in here, not even a trace that Tyler had been rummaging through! In fact, now I thought about it, there wasn’t even any lipstick in the drawer. All that was in here were creams and lotions.

Creams and lotions- and a little velvet bag?

Yes, a little velvet bag, sitting right at the back of the drawer- right next to the place where I had found the bunny’s head in the first place (at least, I think around about there was where I found it). It sat behind the sea of products like a cloth island, obviously purposely pushed back. I frowned in puzzlement. Did it have something to do with the bunny head? It seemed more likely then not. The rest of the bunny could be in the bag- yet, that would not explain how the head had been detached from the body. Was it some sort of present for Tyler? No, that didn’t seem that likely either. He would have gotten it straight away if that were the case- he is spoilt rotten, after all.

Focusing on the bag, I was again reminded of the little cat locked up in the box. It wasn’t and was the bunny as long as I didn’t open the bag. And if I did open the bag, all would change. All I had to do was pull on the cheap yellow nylon cords to clarify.

And then it would not be not there and there at the same time any more.

My fingers twitched and danced as they neared the cords. Why was I nervous? It was a simple query- find out if the rest of the bunny toy is in there. And if it isn’t, no harm done. It’s just a simple query. No need to be nervous. No need to tremble.

Yet I found myself doing the very things I had assured myself I didn’t need to do.

Finally, I held the cords, lifting the bag out of its wooden stronghold. With one deft pull it was open. I held my breath for what seemed like the umpteenth time since I had walked into the room, pouring the contents onto my lap.

A plastic cylinder with cursive writing on the side fell out, followed by a small pamphlet with the title in the same writing. I looked from the cylinder to the bunny head, not sure if I had stumbled on an answer or an even bigger question. It wasn’t a bunny’s body; that was plain enough to see. But it was definitely supposed to have something to crown the bluntly white plastic; I could see that by the groove circling a raised section. Holding it in my left hand, I raised it up, my right hand slowly gliding towards it with the bunny head in tow. Without a doubt, the bunny head settled comfortably on top, stating quite clearly that this was the place it belonged.

I almost quoted Alice In Wonderland at that point, such was my surprise.

My attention turned to the pamphlet, hungry for the knowledge of what this all meant. Why would my mother need a purple bunny head on a stick of plastic? It just didn’t make sense- no logic came out of the association of the two objects! The pamphlet didn’t look too logical either. It had a picture of a woman’s lower stomach on the front, which I found odd and uncomfortable. Slowly, I unfolded the pamphlet:

“Revolutionary technology insures twice the usual pleasure then most commercialised vibrator! The bunny head design insures maximum clitoris stimulation, which will leave you-“

The pamphlet dropped from my limp hand, fluttering down to the floor like a shocking butterfly. It was just as well. My hands were trembling so much from shock and disgust I could barely read past the wobbles.

A vibrator? The bunny’s head was part of a vibrator? I was holding a-

Next to fall was the incrimination plastic cylinder, its bunny-shaped head bouncing off and leaping back into the drawer. I felt my throat clench, bile simmering dangerously in my stomach.

I had been touching… I had touched… It had been in my hand…

My hand trembled, sensing it had been contaminated in one of the vilest ways possible. I stared as I felt the obscene evil coating my hand, slowly sinking evilly through my pores, seeking to coat my every cell with filth-

I left the room in a mess, my feet pounding on the floor as I forgot any notion of finding make-up in a race to get to a sink. My hand needed to be washed- purged from the evil it had just contacted!

It was a toy I had found all right.

Just not one intended for a child’s laughter.