I Lied When I Said I Didn't Love You
Memories Part 1
Flashback To When Mike Was Eight
“STUPID BITCH! YOU STUPID WHORE!” I heard my father yell, jerking me out of my dreams and back into reality. A smash came from downstairs- then the scary sound of a woman screaming.
I huddled under the covers of my bed, my own breaths echoing in my ears in the dark, soft space. I squeezed my eyes shut tightly, hoping that if I didn’t see anything it would just be a bad dream, nothing would be wrong and my family would be back to normal.
Unfortunately, hoping never got me anywhere.
I tensed as I heard footsteps on the landing outside my bedroom door, curling up into a ball for protection.
If he was really angry he might hit me as well as my Mom. The skin on my arms and chest was still mottled purple from the last time.
He never meant to hurt me, he would always say afterwards, tears running down his coarse cheeks as he saw the marks he had left. He wouldn’t bother to say this to Mom though, just staring silently before turning away to take another gulp of the vile liquid he swallowed that turned him into a monster.
Sometimes he hit my sister too. She dared to stand up for herself, a cheeky response flying from her lips before she could control it.
After one sentence, she would end up on the floor. Dad’s fists were just as unpredictable as her responses, and twice as fast.
The door creaked open, quiet feet padding across the floor. I cautiously peeked over the covers, ready to duck down if there was any danger.
“It’s okay, Mike. It’s just me,” my sister said softly, a pale hand over the side of her face. She sat beside me, pulling the covers over her legs as she huddled up next to me. The dim light glinted off a shiny red patch on her cheek as she wearily closed her eyes. I reached out and touched her cheek, blood coming away on my fingers. She flinched, pushing my hand away from the wound.
“You’re hurt!” I exclaimed, feeling a bit sick as I stared at the sticky blood on the tips of my fingers. My sister shushed me, her eyes resting uneasily on the door.
“It’s nothing, okay? Just be quiet- he might come in here next if we’re too loud!”
“What happened?” I whispered, hugging my knees to my chest.
“I didn’t duck in time, that’s what happened! The stupid asshole threw a bottle at me, and one of the shards got in my cheek!”
“You’re not supposed to say those words! He said!”
“Yeah, well what more can he do to me? Beat me even more then he already does?”
“But- but- what if he kills you?” I whispered; my childish mind filled with the images of blood and guts going everywhere, a product over my overactive imagination and too much TV.
She laughed sarcastically.
“He wouldn’t dare. He’s a coward, not a maniac.”
“How can he be a coward if he hits us?” I asked, puzzled.
“You wouldn’t understand. You’re too little.”
“That’s not true! I know about the lion from ‘The Wizard Of Oz’, he was a coward. Dad isn’t like that!”
“The lion was actually brave and he isn’t our Dad, okay? We’re both adopted. You know that!”
“Yeah, but Mom and Dad said that didn’t matter-“
“Mike, just shut up about it, okay?” she hissed suddenly, turning her back on me. I drew the covers around me, resting my spine against the wall.
“Sorry.”
Suddenly there was an unearthly scream from downstairs, much louder then any of the other screams before. I heard some muffled swearing, a slamming door. My sister sat bolt upright, her eyes alert.
“Mom,” she said quickly, leaping up and running out the door.
I followed more slowly, afraid of what I might see. I was biting my knuckles as I slowly stepped down the stairs.
Oh no. Maybe he really had killed her.
My overactive brain imagined blood all over the floor and walls, splattered on the white like a Jackson Pollock painting. A gleaming knife dirtied by red would be lying on the floor, dropped by Dad as he ran out of the room.
When I walked into the kitchen, the scene was a lot less dramatic then I imagined. But it was still frightening. Mom was lying on the floor, her face deathly pale in the gloom. Her eyes were closed, her hair lying across her face in tangled tendrils. My sister was kneeling by her side, a finger resting on Mom’s neck. She looked up from what she was doing, her eyes wide.
“MIKE! Call 911! Mom’s not conscious!” she yelled.
I stumbled over to the phone, dialling the number, my fingers trembling. I could hear my heavy breathing echoing down the line as I waited, trying not to look back at Mom.
“Hello? I need an ambulance- my Mom’s unconscious! Dad hit her too hard!” I cried down the phone, blurting whatever came into my hassled mind.
“Hold on honey, we’ll have an ambulance and a police car down there straight away!”
Police car? What did they need a police car?
Mycla ordered me to get off the phone, tugging me down beside her. Her frightened gaze never left Mom’s silent face.
“Go get a wet cloth. Mike! Now!” she told me. I stumbled off through the darkness, my limbs bumping on the walls as I fought my way to the bathroom. There were some towels there. Mom needed this. Mycla said so.
The bathroom tiles were slippery and wet underfoot, but with what I had no idea. I could hear the silent drip of a tap in the gloom, consistent as my heart pounded out of time. A rush of dizziness hit my brain, my body leaning to one side. Oh no. Not now, not right now. I was having an ‘episode’ as Mom called it. She didn’t tell me the reason why I had these. All I knew was that it made my head feel funny, my heart feel panicked and sometimes I would throw up.
I was hoping I wouldn’t throw up now.
I concentrated hard on walking to the sink, turning the tap on. I grabbed the towel nearest to me, shoving it under the small stream of water. It steadily got heavier and damper, the water seeping through until the whole thing was completely drenched. It was then I heard the breathing behind me, slow, heavy and angry.
“You called the police, you little fucking bastard. You fucking called the cops on me!” I heard my Dad yell, before his hand pushed my head forward and smashed it into the mirror.
The glass broke, splintering across the previously smooth surface like a spider’s web. I felt a fragment pierce my skin, stinging as the blood started to run in a steady trickle into my eyes.
I was yanked back, shocked tears running down my cheeks. I saw his cold eyes stare blankly at me, dulled by the poison he put into himself with his own free will.
“Little fucking backstabber! You called them! I heard you!” he growled, throwing me across the room. My side caught on the side of the cold bathtub, winding me. I could only snivel pitifully as he stepped out the room, the sound of sirens filling the room from the open window.
“You fucking tell them you saw me- you’re dead. Dead, you hear?”
He left like a shadow, only the dull throbbing pain reminding me he’d even been there at all. I weakly lifted my head over the side of the bathtub, emptying my stomach into it as the dizziness mixed with the pain.
Outside the door there were frantic voices, feet rushing into the kitchen. I heard my sister calling for me over the top of them, her voice high and screechy.
“MIKE! Michael! Mike! Where are you?”
I didn’t have enough breath to talk, let alone call out. So I just lay there, my head resting on the cold tiles as I preoccupied myself with trying to refill my lungs.
The pain in my head was worse now, burning like fire. I could feel my eyelids drooping as the pain took over, darkness hovering around the corners of my eyes.
The door opened, a pair of black shoes appearing in my sightline. Someone checked my pulse, gently shaking me. They made me sit up, asking me my name. I told them I was Mike, my eyes closing as I leaned forward. The person shook me again, telling me I had to stay awake. I had something called a ‘concussion” and if I went to sleep now, it might be very bad for me. They scooped me up, carrying me outside.
Keep awake, Michael.
Come on, tell me about yourself.
Prop those eyelids open, there’s a good lad.
Don’t close your eyes! Keep alert!
No sleeping now. You can sleep later.
Don’t… sleep… don’t sleep
My sister’s familiar scent was around me again, her scrawny arms hugging me close as I snuggled into her sweater.
Don’t sleep.
Please don’t sleep, Mike.
“STUPID BITCH! YOU STUPID WHORE!” I heard my father yell, jerking me out of my dreams and back into reality. A smash came from downstairs- then the scary sound of a woman screaming.
I huddled under the covers of my bed, my own breaths echoing in my ears in the dark, soft space. I squeezed my eyes shut tightly, hoping that if I didn’t see anything it would just be a bad dream, nothing would be wrong and my family would be back to normal.
Unfortunately, hoping never got me anywhere.
I tensed as I heard footsteps on the landing outside my bedroom door, curling up into a ball for protection.
If he was really angry he might hit me as well as my Mom. The skin on my arms and chest was still mottled purple from the last time.
He never meant to hurt me, he would always say afterwards, tears running down his coarse cheeks as he saw the marks he had left. He wouldn’t bother to say this to Mom though, just staring silently before turning away to take another gulp of the vile liquid he swallowed that turned him into a monster.
Sometimes he hit my sister too. She dared to stand up for herself, a cheeky response flying from her lips before she could control it.
After one sentence, she would end up on the floor. Dad’s fists were just as unpredictable as her responses, and twice as fast.
The door creaked open, quiet feet padding across the floor. I cautiously peeked over the covers, ready to duck down if there was any danger.
“It’s okay, Mike. It’s just me,” my sister said softly, a pale hand over the side of her face. She sat beside me, pulling the covers over her legs as she huddled up next to me. The dim light glinted off a shiny red patch on her cheek as she wearily closed her eyes. I reached out and touched her cheek, blood coming away on my fingers. She flinched, pushing my hand away from the wound.
“You’re hurt!” I exclaimed, feeling a bit sick as I stared at the sticky blood on the tips of my fingers. My sister shushed me, her eyes resting uneasily on the door.
“It’s nothing, okay? Just be quiet- he might come in here next if we’re too loud!”
“What happened?” I whispered, hugging my knees to my chest.
“I didn’t duck in time, that’s what happened! The stupid asshole threw a bottle at me, and one of the shards got in my cheek!”
“You’re not supposed to say those words! He said!”
“Yeah, well what more can he do to me? Beat me even more then he already does?”
“But- but- what if he kills you?” I whispered; my childish mind filled with the images of blood and guts going everywhere, a product over my overactive imagination and too much TV.
She laughed sarcastically.
“He wouldn’t dare. He’s a coward, not a maniac.”
“How can he be a coward if he hits us?” I asked, puzzled.
“You wouldn’t understand. You’re too little.”
“That’s not true! I know about the lion from ‘The Wizard Of Oz’, he was a coward. Dad isn’t like that!”
“The lion was actually brave and he isn’t our Dad, okay? We’re both adopted. You know that!”
“Yeah, but Mom and Dad said that didn’t matter-“
“Mike, just shut up about it, okay?” she hissed suddenly, turning her back on me. I drew the covers around me, resting my spine against the wall.
“Sorry.”
Suddenly there was an unearthly scream from downstairs, much louder then any of the other screams before. I heard some muffled swearing, a slamming door. My sister sat bolt upright, her eyes alert.
“Mom,” she said quickly, leaping up and running out the door.
I followed more slowly, afraid of what I might see. I was biting my knuckles as I slowly stepped down the stairs.
Oh no. Maybe he really had killed her.
My overactive brain imagined blood all over the floor and walls, splattered on the white like a Jackson Pollock painting. A gleaming knife dirtied by red would be lying on the floor, dropped by Dad as he ran out of the room.
When I walked into the kitchen, the scene was a lot less dramatic then I imagined. But it was still frightening. Mom was lying on the floor, her face deathly pale in the gloom. Her eyes were closed, her hair lying across her face in tangled tendrils. My sister was kneeling by her side, a finger resting on Mom’s neck. She looked up from what she was doing, her eyes wide.
“MIKE! Call 911! Mom’s not conscious!” she yelled.
I stumbled over to the phone, dialling the number, my fingers trembling. I could hear my heavy breathing echoing down the line as I waited, trying not to look back at Mom.
“Hello? I need an ambulance- my Mom’s unconscious! Dad hit her too hard!” I cried down the phone, blurting whatever came into my hassled mind.
“Hold on honey, we’ll have an ambulance and a police car down there straight away!”
Police car? What did they need a police car?
Mycla ordered me to get off the phone, tugging me down beside her. Her frightened gaze never left Mom’s silent face.
“Go get a wet cloth. Mike! Now!” she told me. I stumbled off through the darkness, my limbs bumping on the walls as I fought my way to the bathroom. There were some towels there. Mom needed this. Mycla said so.
The bathroom tiles were slippery and wet underfoot, but with what I had no idea. I could hear the silent drip of a tap in the gloom, consistent as my heart pounded out of time. A rush of dizziness hit my brain, my body leaning to one side. Oh no. Not now, not right now. I was having an ‘episode’ as Mom called it. She didn’t tell me the reason why I had these. All I knew was that it made my head feel funny, my heart feel panicked and sometimes I would throw up.
I was hoping I wouldn’t throw up now.
I concentrated hard on walking to the sink, turning the tap on. I grabbed the towel nearest to me, shoving it under the small stream of water. It steadily got heavier and damper, the water seeping through until the whole thing was completely drenched. It was then I heard the breathing behind me, slow, heavy and angry.
“You called the police, you little fucking bastard. You fucking called the cops on me!” I heard my Dad yell, before his hand pushed my head forward and smashed it into the mirror.
The glass broke, splintering across the previously smooth surface like a spider’s web. I felt a fragment pierce my skin, stinging as the blood started to run in a steady trickle into my eyes.
I was yanked back, shocked tears running down my cheeks. I saw his cold eyes stare blankly at me, dulled by the poison he put into himself with his own free will.
“Little fucking backstabber! You called them! I heard you!” he growled, throwing me across the room. My side caught on the side of the cold bathtub, winding me. I could only snivel pitifully as he stepped out the room, the sound of sirens filling the room from the open window.
“You fucking tell them you saw me- you’re dead. Dead, you hear?”
He left like a shadow, only the dull throbbing pain reminding me he’d even been there at all. I weakly lifted my head over the side of the bathtub, emptying my stomach into it as the dizziness mixed with the pain.
Outside the door there were frantic voices, feet rushing into the kitchen. I heard my sister calling for me over the top of them, her voice high and screechy.
“MIKE! Michael! Mike! Where are you?”
I didn’t have enough breath to talk, let alone call out. So I just lay there, my head resting on the cold tiles as I preoccupied myself with trying to refill my lungs.
The pain in my head was worse now, burning like fire. I could feel my eyelids drooping as the pain took over, darkness hovering around the corners of my eyes.
The door opened, a pair of black shoes appearing in my sightline. Someone checked my pulse, gently shaking me. They made me sit up, asking me my name. I told them I was Mike, my eyes closing as I leaned forward. The person shook me again, telling me I had to stay awake. I had something called a ‘concussion” and if I went to sleep now, it might be very bad for me. They scooped me up, carrying me outside.
Keep awake, Michael.
Come on, tell me about yourself.
Prop those eyelids open, there’s a good lad.
Don’t close your eyes! Keep alert!
No sleeping now. You can sleep later.
Don’t… sleep… don’t sleep
My sister’s familiar scent was around me again, her scrawny arms hugging me close as I snuggled into her sweater.
Don’t sleep.
Please don’t sleep, Mike.