Cristie

Cristie



It was there, right in front of me. I tried to reach out, but something was holding me back. I turned every which way to see what it was, but I then realized that it was only me. I didn’t understand until now why I hadn’t let it go, but the truth was out there for all to see. I had been keeping it to myself the past few months, and now it was out.

I tried calling out to him, but he wouldn’t turn back around to face me. He wasn’t going to listen to me anymore. I yelled his name, but he didn’t even flinch. I broke down then, crying and screaming. I didn’t know what else to do now that he knew the truth.

I awoke still screaming, covered in sweat; though my blankets had fallen off the chair that I had fallen asleep in. I tried to remember what had started the dream, or I guess you could call it a nightmare, but I came up blank. The phone rang then, interrupting my thoughts, drowning them out with its shrill calls. I leapt up and jogged to get it.

“Hello,” I said into the receiver, my voice slightly shaking.

“Hey, it’s Chris.” I stopped quivering as soon as I heard the voice. I would know it anywhere; it belonged to my boyfriend. This brought back the thoughts of my dream and made me shiver.

“Thank God he doesn’t know,” I muttered.

“I’m sorry, what was that?” Crap, he heard me, I thought, quickly looking around as if he were standing right next to me.

“Oh, uh, nothing at all. I just stubbed my toe that’s all.”

“If you say so. Anyway, did you want me to pick you up for school?”

“No, I think I’ll drive myself today.” I hoped that my voice didn’t sound too cold; I did not want it to.

“Are you alright? You sound really, I don’t know, distant.” He had noticed.

“Yeah I’m fine. Listen, I got to go. See you at school.” I hung the phone up before he could reply. Looking at the time, I walked into the kitchen to the cupboard above the sink, grabbing the cereal before pulling out a bowl. With my hands full, I used my elbow to open the fridge, grabbing the carton of milk with my pinkie. I had just gotten to the table when I dropped the bowl.

“Damn it!” I screeched as I bent down to pick it up and set it on the table. Things like this always happen to me, I’m not exactly the most coordinated person alive. I set upon getting myself breakfast, only getting distracted when I heard my father leave. It was usual for him not to say goodbye to me when he left for work; for he somehow blames me for my mother’s departure, so he barely talks to me. Whenever he does though, the conversation revolves around her.

How was I responsible for my mother cheating on him? It wasn’t my fault, he brought it on himself. My mother, Billie, was always tortured by my father’s territorial behaviour. If any guy talked to my mum, dad would immediately start throwing punches. The worst part was that all the guys had reasons to talk to mum. She was pretty; no that doesn’t half explain it. She was stunningly beautiful. Her strawberry-blonde hair waved down to the small of her back; light brown eyes managed to project herself in a light, flirty way. She wasn’t one of those women who were so tanned that they were different shades of orange, but she wasn’t an albino either. The sun always managed to bring out brown tints in her hair, teasing the men that watched her more.

Billie started talking to this one guy, Ricky, more than necessary. And then, she was always late home from work, sometimes not even coming home. When she was there, she was constantly taking calls in her own private study. She told my father, Rhys, that it was all for work, and that she had gotten a promotion, so she would be away quite often. My dad believed her, though I saw right through her lies. I knew what was happening the moment she started saying those things, I could see it in her eyes that she was being unfaithful to my father, but I didn’t say anything.

Then the inevitable happened one day. Dad answered the phone when Ricky rang, not saying anything even after he heard Ricky’s alluring Spanish accent saying, “Hey, Billie baby. When am I picking you up tonight? Are you staying with me or with that stupid husband of yours? I’ve booked a room in the hotel for us if you want to join me?” That was when dad hung the phone up. He called my mother in and confronted her about it. I was in the next room but I heard it all. I remember my mother start ranting on about how she wanted a relationship that wasn’t abusive. This was the first I heard of all the physical fights they’d had. Of course, I’d always wondered why mum always wore long-sleeved shirts and full-length jeans, even in the middle of summer. I finally knew the reason behind it.

In my mind’s eye, I can always see my mum walking out the door after she brought up the attacks, and after my father didn’t deny it, nor did he say anything about it at all. He was speechless. Mum had promised him that she would never bring it up, but she did, and in front of me too. I remember my and my father’s expression as she slammed the door on the way out. He still didn’t say anything about it.

It has been 10 years since I last saw her; I was 8 and I’ve never forgotten the argument they had before she left. And afterwards, my father went into this deep depression, not talking to anyone, not seeing anyone even me. His friends stopped calling after a while. I was too young to be left alone and my grandparents heard about my parents’ falling-out; they came to take me to their house. I was 15 before Rhys was able to take me back, and I have lived with him for the past three years.