“You’re a worthless excuse for a daughter. I wish I never had you.”
Frantically, my eyes dart around the room for her. She’s here. I know it. I can smell the stench of alcohol in the air. Whipping around, I search for any trace of her, my entire body shaking and the knot in my throat unbearable. Tears fill my eyes as they anxiously race around the kitchen, finally landing on the cabinet where she used to store her liquor.
Memories flood my mind, the immobilizing terror that I would feel every time she approached it. The prayers I would send to no one in particular, just hoping that she wouldn’t open that fucking cabinet for just one night. Prayers that fell on deaf ears.
Slowly I make my way to the white doors, crouching down in front of them.
“You killed him and I will make damn sure you spend the rest of your life paying for that. I’ll never again know true happiness because you fucking exist.”
Shaking my head to try to clear her voice from my mind, I set my trembling fingers on the silver knobs and yank the doors open. Nothing.
A sigh of relief escapes my lips as I close them. Rising, I turn to take a step towards the sink when another memory strikes.
“Mama, don’t please.” I cry out loud as she approaches me with the scissors.
“I have to, Tatum. Your beauty does not match the vile, revolting child that you really are on the inside. Everyone should see you for who you are.” I try to run, but she grabs my long dark hair as I pass by her, swiping the blades so close to my neck that I can feel the cool metal against my skin. Laughing she chunks my tresses into the sink. “You’re an ugly person, Tatum. Inside…and out, now.”
“God, Daddy. Please help me,” I say out loud, lifting my shaking hands to my forehead, threading sections of hair through my fingers. “Please, Daddy, I need you.” After a while, calmness spreads throughout my body. I’m no longer shaking, but the voices are still there.
Turning the faucet on, I splash water on my face repeatedly, trying to drown out them out along with the memories. After wiping my face dry with a dishtowel, I hear the crackling of gravel as Noah’s Jeep pulls up into the driveway.
Breathing in deeply, I try to regain my composure as I walk to the door, straightening my shirt and running my fingers through my hair before I reach for the knob. Hearing steps in front of the house, I barely crack the door and poke my head out to make sure it’s really him. With all the crazy shit going on in this house I can’t be too sure. But, much to my relief, there he is, standing on my porch in his classic white t-shirt, work jeans and boots, his fist raised about to knock.
And just like that, the voices are gone and my head is clear.
I release a comforted breath and feel the corners of my mouth slightly lift at the sight of him.
“What are you smiling at?” Noah asks, seemingly nervous. Opening the door wider, I gesture for him to enter my house of horrors. The sight of his disheveled hair makes me grin even more.
“Your hair, it’s nice to see it like that. I don’t know why, but it makes me smile.” I clear my throat. His nerves must be contagious, because suddenly I feel that hummingbird feeling in my chest.
With him now inside, I close the door and head towards the kitchen, checking over my shoulder to make sure he’s following me. “Want something to eat?”
Once I see he’s fallen into step, I turn back around and round the corner, making sure to avoid looking at the sink. The memory still lingering on the hinges of my mind, I try to push it as far away as I can. “I don’t have much, but I did manage to make it to the store over the weekend.”
“No, I’m good, Thanks, though.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks onto the balls of his feet.
Thinking about our last night together, I feel the frustration mounting within myself. I should kick my own ass for kissing him. Everything seems so edgy between us now and I hate it. Running my fingers through my hair, I twist it at the nape of my neck and bring it over my shoulder.
“Well, what’s up? What couldn’t wait until tonight?”
His eyes widen. “Tonight? What’s tonight?”
“I picked up Sadie’s shift.”
He grinds his teeth together as he leans against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “I told you to take the entire week off, Tate. You don’t need to work right now. You need to concentrate on healing.”
I know.
“No, I don’t. I’m sick and tired of being cooped up in this depressing house. I need to get out, to stay busy. I feel like I’m losing it, honestly.” My hands are still trembling and I’m not sure if it’s the sudden anxiety from being around Noah or the fact that I’m losing my mind. His eyes break from mine and land on them as they continue to shake like a leaf. Pressing himself off the wall, he takes a small, timid step towards me.
I want to tell him to stop. To stay where he is. To tell him to leave this house and forget about me. That I could ruin his perfect life by just being near him.
But I don’t.
I let him continue taking those steps until he’s right in front of me and even breathe out a sigh of contentment when he wraps his arms around me, pulling me into his frame. The tears fall as he lightly traces my back with his fingers, and with each touch, my uneasiness lessens. I know it’s selfish, but I would give anything to stay in this moment forever.
Circling my arms around his waist, I press my forehead against his chest and watch the droplets as they plummet from my face towards his boots, dark spots forming as they strike. After a couple of seconds, I replace my forehead with my chin, daring to look into his muddy brown eyes, full of their usual intensity as he studies me, peering into my soul. In them, I find complete solace and protection, and the sudden desire to share things with him that I swore I’d never share with another living person.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me, Noah. I feel like I’m going fucking crazy. Ever since Friday, I can’t stop them. The voices. My mother’s leading their charge to my insanity.” My throat closes almost completely shut. “I hate this house. I hate being here, alone. So many memories…” I trail off, my strength fading, no longer able to keep from bawling.
I close my eyes as the warm moisture cascades down my cheeks and runs down my neck. Unwrapping his arms, he moves his hands to my face, wiping the tears away, but it’s useless. They’re replaced instantly.
“Tate, open your eyes. Look at me, baby.” I keep them closed, not ready to face the wary expression in front of me.
“Let me in, Tate. Open your eyes.” The heartache in his tone and the tremble of his voice prompts me to open them immediately. As soon as our eyes catch, a breath hitches in my throat. His eyes shining, he gently wraps his fingers around my shoulders, pressing his thumbs softly into my flesh as he speaks.
“You’re not alone. I’m right here.” A slight smile of relief breaks through the tears on my face.
I watch his mouth tip up in response. “Now, tell the voices to shut the fuck up because it’s my turn.”
L.B. Simmons is a graduate of Texas A&M University and holds a degree in Biomedical Science. She has been a practicing Chemist for the last 11 years. She lives with her husband and three daughters in Texas and writes every chance she gets.
