“Why?” I ask.
“Noya!” Dad barks as he stands abruptly, towering over the table. “Go to your fucking room.”
Mum shrinks lower, and tears streak down her cheeks.
I chew the skin on the inside of my cheek while nodding. Without another word, I push the bowl away and enter my room. After I close and lock my door, I bite my nail while pacing. I clutch my phone, my hand trembling. I need to text Conner.
Me: Hey, Conner. I will see you at school tomorrow morning. My dad is taking me to school.
My heart beat faster and faster within my chest, heaving as heavy breaths choke out. I sit down to brace myself for what I have encountered at the dining room table.
The window!
I grip the lock, pull it out, and try to drag the window across, but it won’t budge. It is as if something is stuck, maybe even jammed in there, preventing it from opening.
I reach for my phone to flash a light on it when it vibrates.
Conner: Okay…
Conner (a second later): I don’t like it, but I guess there isn’t anything I can do. Is everything all right over there?
Me: Yeah. I’m fine. We can talk more tomorrow. I’m heading to bed. Goodnight.
Conner: I love you. Goodnight, baby.
I shine the light on the gap that slides the window out. I’m struggling to peek through, hoping to see something I can easily remove without Dad noticing. It’s not a coincidence that my window is broken and can’t open. He doesn’t want me to jump through it. Mum must have told him I jumped through it that night and was out all night when I bought the wrong beer.
The way they’re acting… the way Mum is acting as if we’re a happy family that has eaten at the table every night, which is tradition. She offered me cheese and salt and smiles—even I cansee it’s forced. Dad’s plotting something, and he’s brought Mum into it.
What should I do? Every aspect of my life is being controlled. Dad’s taking me to school and work. There’s no escaping those prying eyes. He barely drinks, making me believe he wants to be conscious for reasons I don’t know yet.
On my birthday… he was unequivocal that he would repair the window after my birthday. Then… what happens after?
55
MONDAY
The soundof Dad’s alarm causes me to stiffen. Staring up at the still, lifeless fan, I grimace. The door to Dad’s room opens, and he grumbles with irritation. Then I hear the shower turn on.
Exhaling a breath, I sit up, remove the blankets, and rub my sleepless eyes. Usually, when I wake, Dad has already left for work. Did he get a week off or something so he could monitor me? This is out of character, and now my routine with Conner has shattered.
I’m left with the monster with those jarring, jagged teeth—his entire entity watching over me and everything I’m doing. I’m not only a bird locked in her cage, but a chain is bound to my neck, and my clipped wings prevent me from flying.
Mum is in the kitchen preparing toast. I look between her and the bathroom. Dad is in the bedroom. I head to the kitchen and stand beside Mum. This might be my only chance to talk to her while Dad’s in the room.
“Mum, what’s going on?” I ask.
She butters the toast, a smile on her face, yet her eyes are glassy and bloodshot.
“Mum,” I say in a hushed voice. “Why is Dad taking me to school and work?”
“Noya,” Mum snaps, making me flinch. “You should be happy your dad wants to spend more time with you. You should be grateful he hasn’t gone out drinking for the past few days and wants us to be a family.”
“But…”
Mum turns to me, her smile strained and her eyes furious. “What do you want on your toast?”
The door to their bedroom opens, and Dad comes out, looking between us. Mum grabs the toast she made, cuts it into rectangles, and places them with a glass of orange juice on the table. Dad grumbles a response I can’t quite catch. The TV turns on, and Dad watches the news.