Fear Itself

My front door had never been so daunting before. Even it all it’s white, opaque, oppressive glory, I had never been so rattled by the sight of the thing. Granted, I usually saw it from the inside. It was merely a symbol of my entrapment. Now, it was something else entirely. The sky was dark. My travels had been delayed longer than I had intended, and my father was home from work. The door was still just a door, but no longer did it hold me within the walls. Now, behind it rested a monster, an entirely new fear. The man waiting for me inside wasn’t my father. I couldn’t even call him human. What human being could sit watch another die and feel nothing?

I stood on the step shaking. I had stopped crying at least, but the red marks on my face remained. My teeth chewed on my bottom lip as I debated what to do. I could easily turn around and go back to the base. That would certainly be an option… but I was angry. I was undeniably and irrevocably angry, and the rage burned with every fiber of my being. I had been betrayed. I had been lied to. For eighteen years, the man who was supposed to protect me stuffed me so full of lies I was practically bursting at the seams with them. It was time to set this straight, so I took a single deep breath to force my shoulders back. When I shoved the door open, it smacked against the wall with a thud. I didn’t bother to close it either, just marched right toward the snake standing in the kitchen, staring at me with anger I didn’t deserve directed at me. I knew that now.

“Where were you, Thalia?” he asked sternly. He wasn’t kidding. That was good; I wasn’t either.

I marched right up to the island counter, fuming. “No, Dad. Where were you?” I glared up at him, eyes narrowed and unwavering, even when he scoffed and tried to brush me off.

“Thalia, I refuse to play games with you right now. Answer my question,” he retorted coldly, folding his arms over his chest.

“No,” I sneered. “You answer mine. I deserve answers, Dad. Where were you when Mum died? I want the truth.”

“Right here in this kitchen,” my father replied, eyes drifting to the right. “This was where I got the call—“

“Dad, I said the truth,” I snapped. My hands gripped the surface of the island counter. I took deep breaths, trying to remain as calm as I could.

His eyes fall back on me coldly. “That is the truth, Pumpkin. Your mother was killed by thugs—“

“No!” I cried, slamming my hands against the table. “That’s a lie!” I shouted. “All of this… everything you’ve ever told me about her has been a lie. Dad, I know exactly what happened to her. Why don’t you just fucking say it—“

“Language, Pumpkin,” he scolded, still calm and collected.

“Don’t Pumpkin me!” I yelled. “You killed her!”

“I didn’t kill your mother, Thalia,” he corrected me, suddenly beginning to look angry and affected. Finally. I didn’t know if what I saw in him was pain, anger, or a mixture of both, but it was better than yelling at a blank wall.

“Right,” I scoffed. “You just watched while she cried for you to help her. That’s so much better, Dad! I’ve officially absolved you of blame because you weren’t the one with your finger on the trigger!”

“Thalia, you need to go to your room right now,” my father commanded, closing his eyes and rubbing his brows.

“No!” I retorted. “No, I will not take orders from a murderer.”

“Room,” he repeated. “Now.”

“And what if I said no?” I challenged, folding my arms over my chest.

He lifted his eyes to me in a hostile, unwavering stare. “Then, I will burn your books. All of them, right down to the binding.”

My tough exterior faltered for but a moment, flinching, but I huffed. “Go ahead,” I pressed, sneering. “They’re all lies anyway. Lies and rubbish, just ploys to keep me inside and obedient. News flash, Dad, they don’t substitute for reality. So go ahead. Burn my books. Ink and paper will never be as satisfying as first-hand experience.”

“Thalia, stop this nonsense—“

“No, no, for the thousandth time, no!” I thundered. “I can’t, Dad. I can’t stop arguing with you because I have come to realize everything that you’ve taken from me. For eighteen years, you had me believing that this sick, twisted situation was normal. I never got to go to school, never got to have friends, never got to have a real birthday.”

“Go to your room,” my father commanded once more. “I mean it. I’m not kidding around. If you don’t knock this off, you will never see the light of day.”

“And I will be damned if I allow you to lock me up again.”

My father didn’t like that much. His eyes narrowed at me. “I think we’re through here,” he told me through gritted teeth before his hand locked against my wrist. “You don’t want to go to your room, then I will make you.” And he would have to take me kicking and screaming.

“No!” I protested immediately, trying to rip my hand away from him, but he was stronger than me. I knew that I could take him down if I wanted to… but I didn’t. I don’t know why I didn’t. He dragged me clear out of the kitchen, even though I shifted my weight back to my heels, if not to break free, then to make him topple over. He didn’t. He just kept dragging me, and my shoes slid against the tiled floor. I stumbled when they hit the carpet, but my father’s grip tugged me upward, dragging me, quite literally, up the stairs, even as I attempted to cling to the railing, shrieking and crying like I was being dragged off to my death.

“Tali,” he grunted as he pulled me off the railing and up the stairs. “I’m incredibly displeased with your behavior.” I sobbed and screamed and tugged and pulled even as he got me to the doorway. With little force, he nudged me forward, but it was enough to send me toppling over forward. My whole body crashed against the carpet. I lifted my head to look up at him, standing in the doorway over me. I blinked through the hair sprawled across my face. “I hope you’re happy,” he muttered at me as he closed the door, eliminating all light, leaving me on the floor, in the dark when he locked the door.

After a few minutes of regaining composure, I pushed myself to my feet. I dropped my bag on the bed and unzipped it, letting Ralph rush out of it, looking quite frazzled when he dashed to hide underneath of my bed. “Sorry, Ralphie,” I whispered in the midst of tears and muffled sobs. I was brimming with energy I couldn’t dispense. I quickly took to pacing around the room. I marched over to the corner, looking at the empty easel in the corner. A scowl gradually deepened on my face, and I let out a muffled shriek through gritted teeth as I shoved the thing over and left it there on the floor.

I turned and began to sob again. I threw myself face down on the bed and sobbed until my chest ached, until I thought my pillows would be soaked with tears. My screams were muffled, lost in the fabric. Time turned and turned, and still I laid there. Eventually, a gentle purring sounded from beside me, and I felt soft fur brush against my forearm. I broke a tiny smile and lifted my head to see my cat padding toward me, mewing. I lifted a hand and gently stroked Ralph’s head. He stared at me with those jade green eyes, standing there. He never sat down, never got comfortable.

“Sit down, Ralph,” I muttered. “I think we’re gonna be here for awhile.” He mewed, tail flicking in the darkness. He ducked his head to brush against my wrist. He mewed again. “C’mon, dumb cat,” I laughed half-heartedly. “You never have a problem sleeping any other time.” He turned, running his back across the underside of my arm before he jumped off the bed and took haven on the window sill. He stretched up, propping a paw up against the glass, scratching it with the other. His head turned to me, and he mewed while he pawed at the window. “What?” I asked quietly, sitting up and wiping my eyes with hand. “Don’t be daft, Ralph.” He didn’t stop. He scratched once more before he leapt back on the bed. His teeth clamped down on the strap of my backpack as he tried (and failed) to tug it toward me.

I leaned forward and took the bag in my hands. My eyes drifted around the emptiness of the room, then the looked door. “You want to leave,” I whispered as Ralph curled up in my lap and purred loudly. I looked back in the empty bag. It wasn’t very big. It was really only enough to carry maybe a few outfits at best… I didn’t have any books or anything I could pack with me, judging by the empty shelves. I guess that was the end of bringing new books back for Alex… but it wasn’t so bad. I reached down and felt the copy of A Light in August settled against the bottom, and I smiled a little. “Okay, Ralph,” I agreed. “Then, let’s go.” Ralph readjusted a little, kept purring, and I giggled softly, blinking out a few last tears. “We have to wait a little, though,” I added. “At least until midnight. Can’t risk Dad catching us.”

Carefully, I placed Ralph down on the comforter, and I took to my closet and my drawers, trying to decide what would be the wisest choices. I couldn’t bring much, probably as much as I could manage to layer on myself. I thought that maybe it would be easier to layer shirts than pants, so pants would probably have to go in the bag. I considered how many sweaters I could wear at once. Eventually, I settled on the following combination: a white v-neck t-shirt, a slightly larger grey scoop neck t-shirt, a pink off-the-shoulder shirt, a thin yellow cardigan, a slightly thicker green cardigan, a loose black cardigan, then a baggy, tan sweater I sometimes wore to bed. I couldn’t fit anymore jeans than I already had on, so whatever else I packed just got thrown in the bag. This presented a new dilemma: where to put Ralph.

Usually, I just threw him in the bag, but he wasn’t going to fit this time. Instead, I rushed over to the empty desk pressed against the far side of the room. I tore open the bottom of the door and removed a large bundle of yarn from a very short-lived stint I had with knitting, and I approached the sleeping cat. I eyed him, sizing him up, and started to loop the yarn around his limps, braiding several strands together for added support, until they formed a harness of sorts. I braided the remainder of the yarn together to give myself a makeshift leash. Surprisingly, he didn’t protest much. I think he knew it had to be done. By the time this was over, the digital clock on my nightstand was reading 12:20 in bright red letters.

“Sure we wanna do this, Ralph?” I asked him quietly. He didn’t respond, just laid there. I sighed and pulled the backpack on, looping the straps over my shoulders. I approached the window and pushed up the pane, letting a cold breeze waft inside. I snapped my fingers to alert my cat, and he leapt up onto the pane beside me. He perched himself in the frame, looking ready to leap. “You first,” I told him softly. I watched him make the leap to the nearby tree. He promptly shoot off the branch and down into the grass. His eyes looked up, and he mewed again. “Hold on, I’m coming,” I huffed. “Bossy cat.” I perched in the window like I’d done so many times before, but this was easier. Fear no longer held me back. My hands caught the tree branch in a tight grip. I let myself swing there for a moment until I slowed. Once steady, I switched to grasp the trunk, and I slowly made my way down until I rejoined my cat.

I took the end of his makeshift leash in my hand and looked ahead, out of the gate. Nodding gently, I gave myself an extra push, just what I needed to send myself out of the garden and out into the night.