He detached himself and took off so easily, he made it seem so normal.
No one really understood his reason, no one seemed to comprehend his move, they all thought it was a phase and he’ll come back. Everyone presumed he needed space, everyone, but her.
Her mother’s teary eyes, now full of hope, searched for her husband’s car every time someone pulled over in the driveway. They searched for a memory, in everything she saw, that belonged to him. Her mother, full of hope and anticipation. Looking out of the window, every now and then, her mother, had become so quite and lost in her thoughts.
But only she knew the truth. She knew it was more than just space, that her father needed. It was more than just a phase.
She recalled the time when she wasn’t feeling too well and was sent from school early. She’d never seen that car in the driveway before. We might have guests over, she had thought.When her father opened the main door, that look on his face still makes her doubt his every word. He asked her about her illness, but didn’t seem very convinced. He tucked her to bed and went down the stairs.
Looking back, she can’t decide if it was her thirst for water or her thirst to know what was being hidden from her that made her get out of bed and glide down the stairs.
She felt as if she would spontaneously combust. She froze instead. She learnt her lesson that day. Not all thirsts were worth quenching.
Her father hadn’t seen her that day. And she never came back home early after that day. No words were uttered. Truth, she noticed, was too hard to be put nicely.
Last month, One night, when the family was having their usual Sunday dinner, her mum had to urgently rush to work.
Oh How she wishes, she hadn’t been home that night.
At first, she didn’t understand what was happening. If it was real.
If she could fight it. She tried running away, pushing away, relieving herself.
It was as though he had no notion of his power over her. She threw every possible item at him. Whenever she aimed right, he would get more fierce.
He broke her in two, peeled back her ribcage. She wasn’t scared of him, she had never been scared of anyone. But her wounds were deep as the Atlantic.
She was intimidated. Frightened by her own father.
This feeling that she had, now, she calls helplessness. She couldn’t help herself out of the situation. But how could she, When her father was the one she was running from. When the man who she played with, whose finger she held when she took her first step, whom she went to when she needed her hero, was the one inflicting all the suffering and shame on her.
Who would you run to, when your rescuer is the one inflicting pain onto you?
Some bruises never leave. Only she knew, how relieved she felt today, now that he was gone. He struck out with his words without much ado, he wasn’t sorry for anything, neither during nor afterwards, and she was utterly defenceless against him.
Looking at her mother, hoping he would come back, that day, still, trembles beneath her bones.
She doesn’t cry anymore, this world was too dark for her to even dream in colour.
She’d become a metal pole in a zero degree weather. She was never going to mistake a streetlight for the moon.
She hates to be touched, to be loved, to be taken care of.
More than anything, she hates to be helpless.