In the living room, I’m greeted by not only my parents but two more people as well. They all seem to be roughly the same age and after a quick glance at the strangers’ hands, I figure they’re married.
‘Florence, here you are. Bob, Rose, this is our daughter, Florence. Florence, these are the Martins, our most important business partners,’ my mother explains with her perfectly polished smile. Knowing this game, I smile politely at them and go to shake their hands.
‘It’s lovely to meet you,’ I tell them, my voice almost a tad too sweet. I haven’t done this in a while so I’m a little rusty.
‘Pleasure is ours,’ Mr. Martin says, staring more at my chest, even though my shirt doesn’t show off any cleavage, than my face. With some embarrassment, I realize I’m not wearing a bra.
I shake the man’s wife’s hand and note she squeezes it too tightly, despite her acting like she didn’t notice anything. Good to know I’m surrounded by snakes.
The next two hours drag by slowly. I come up twice. Once my parents mention how well I’m doing at school and later they say what big plans I have for the future. I pretend everything they say is true when really, they know nothing about me.
‘Yeah, and she reads a lot of books,’ my mom throws in there at one point.
‘Oh really? What kind?’ Mrs. Martin asks, feigning interest as her husband takes in my body once more. It makes the bad kind of goosebumps appear on my skin and I suppress the urge to cross my arms over my chest.
‘The classics,’ I say, hopefully ending the conversation. I don’t want to give the man sitting opposite me any excuse to look at me. I’ve hardly been able to get down any of the food my mother prepared. Not that I have a choice. It’s simply not acceptable not to finish my plate, could you imagine the insult that would be? Nope, just keep eating, I tell myself. Even though I hate myself and my body more with every bite.
After dinner, the adults are quick to move their conversation to the couch where one of my dad’s most expensive bottles of bourbon is waiting. I help my mother in the kitchen as the other three people start discussing business.
‘Can I go to my room after we’re done? I’m tired and I wouldn’t want to intrude,’ I say in a hushed voice so only my mother can hear.
‘You’ll stay for a bit. Then you’ll say you have work to finish for school tomorrow,’ she says curtly. Guess even the queen of acts needs a break from time to time.
When the kitchen’s all cleaned up, I follow my mom to the couch. I sit on a chair since there’s no way I’ll get any closer to Mr. Martins. The four adults have already shared two bottles of wine and now they’re drinking even more. I’ll keep my distance until I can slip off.
I spend twenty uncomfortable minutes in the living room, wishing I’d known sooner that we’d have guests tonight. I wouldn’t have worn shorts and put on a bra. God, I hate men like Bob.
‘I have to excuse myself but I need to finish a school project for tomorrow. It was nice to meet you, have a good night,’ I finally say. On my way down the corridor, the uncomfortable feeling of being watched makes my skin crawl. Only when I finally close the door behind me do I relax.
I take out my current read and get lost in a world of pirates and hot female captains. Two hours pass in a blur and I’m more than surprised when my dad calls out my name. It’s after midnight on a Thursday morning, what could he possibly want?
I cautiously slip out of my room and walk up to the couch. Our guests are no longer here and neither is my mom. I don’t have a good feeling about this but neither do I have a choice.
‘Come here,’ my dad says, his words slurred. I don’t think I’ve ever witnessed my father being drunk. It’s unsettling, to be met by those unfocused eyes.
‘What is it?’ I ask slowly. My father gets up and steps even closer to me. My attention is on his face so I don’t realize the hand flying toward me until it’s too late. The palm of his hand makes contact with my cheek like my mother’s did not so long ago. Only this hit stings a lot more.
I cry out as tears blur my view, then back away from the man. ‘Why?’ I croak, unable to form a coherent sentence. My father stumbles towards me, lifting both of his hands. I flinch and try to get away only for them to settle on my shoulders.
When I meet my father’s eyes, I’m stunned to see tears in them. ‘You know what you did!’ he accuses. I shake my head, having no idea what he’s talking about.
‘Don’t lie!’ he yells.
‘I’m not! I don’t know what I did, I’m sorry,’ I say hurriedly. My father shakes my shoulders.
‘You’re playing dumb even though this is all your fault!’ he says, his expression becoming one of deep despair. My heart aches at the thought I might have hurt him.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whisper even as I have no idea what I’m apologizing for. My father pushes me back hard enough for me to land flat on my back. I scramble to a sitting position, trying to catch my breath.
‘You deserve this for what you did!’ he yells, still looking so damn sad. My heart is beating in my throat as I try to move away from him but he doesn’t let me. Instead, he kicks me in the side once, making me curl up in a ball which only gives him the opportunity to kick me across the back. My spine bends but I curl up tighter.
‘Please! Stop! I’m sorry!’ I say between rasping breaths.
What is happening? What did I do? I swear I didn’t mean to hurt anyone!
‘You deserve this,’ my father spits one more time before I hear his footsteps retreat.
Only when I hear his bedroom door lock, does the first tear roll down my cheek. My adrenaline slowly subsides and the pain where I was kicked really flares up. I wince as I get up, trying to stay quiet so as not to get my father’s attention again.
I lock my door and curl up in my bed, trying to breathe through the physical and emotional pain. I don’t get it, what was my dad so upset about? I must’ve done something really bad for him to punish me like this. The sadness in his eyes still haunts me. I did that?
I stay up all night, crying until I can’t anymore. Then I’m just overwhelmed by confusion.
