6
Kat
The rest of my day went pretty okay, besides my confusing thoughts, until it took a quick turn and now I’m not in the best mood. I went to get lunch at the Coffee Grounds Café—if coffee is my religion, then that place is like my mecca—when I happened to look across at the sports center. The one guy I’ve gone four years without seeing is everywhere now. I know I’ve lived in my own little bubble, but this is getting ridiculous. He was hanging around with a group of jocks and a flock of girls literally hanging off his arms with their breast plastered against him, stroking his biceps. I watched him scowl down for a split second and glance up with a smile on his face as he nodded along to whatever his teammate was saying to him. He was putting on a show. I could see it all, and I was shocked that no one else could. Or maybe they did. The guys around him didn’t stand too close and kept looking at him like he might explode at any second. That didn’t stop the girls from hanging off of him though. I stood there like a creep and jolted out of it when he suddenly whipped his head up and captured me in his gaze. I couldn’t look away, watching him in his element and being treated like a god. He arched his eyebrow at me and shrugged off the girls, as if he was going to come stomping over to me. I spun around and got out of there, disappearing into the café. I stayed for a long time in the back corner booth by the windows, eating my bagel as I stared outside and waited until the coast was clear. He wants me to stay away from him? No problem. I don’t have time for a guy to ruin my plans and stop me from getting out of here.
Speaking of getting out of here… Unfortunately, I had to go to my father’s townhouse to grab some clothes to change into at Mary’s dorm room for the party. I’m already dreading this, because I’m not going to do so well in the crowd. I’m there to be a supportive friend and keep an eye on Mary, but maybe there’ll be a corner I can hide in later.
Inserting my house key to the devil’s playground, I silently open the door to slip through and pray he’s not here, or at least sleeping in a coma of drunkness. My socks mask any noise on the stairs leading to my room on the second floor, and I can breathe a little easier when I make it to my room without an incident. I quickly gather a simple grey sweater dress that drops down to my knees, some black tights, plus extra skating clothes and my skates,just in case. Looking around at my pink bedroom that has been my prison since mom died, nothing has changed in here, like time has stood still. Fringe pink curtains with butterflies that match pink walls and bedspread… It's like I died and this room hasn’t been touched, because it’s too painful to look inside. I hate this place and the freaking color pink. A shudder runs through me, and I decide it’s time to leave just the way I came. Sneaking out, I quietly close my bedroom door so it doesn’t look like I came home and rush down the stairs with my heart racing.
Please don’t be here. Please, Lord, for once, give me a break from the constant pain,I chant in my head.
I enter the foyer and count down under my breath until freedom comes for me past these doors.
“You look just like your mother, and more like her every day,” comes his voice in the dark, making me skid to a stop with my eyes squeezing shut with dread.
I slowly turn around to see Father in the open doorway of his office with his back turned towards me and half a glass of scotch in his left hand, hanging from dangling fingers. He’s gazing at Mom’s portrait above the mantle with his face twisted in an unreadable expression. This isn’t the first time I’ve heard this. I stay quiet in the center of the foyer, inching my way past the small round table with flowers in a glass vase in the middle, closer to the front entry. Staying as quiet as a mouse hasn’t helped before, but I can only hope it might work this time. He turns around and pins me with hatred in his brown eyes, blaming me for looking like her. I meet his stare without showing any emotion, because he eats any fear I show and devours it whole until there is nothing left for me to give anymore. He sees the laced skates dangling from my fingers and curls his lip in disgust, a vein pulsing on his forehead.
“Kathleen, what have I told you time again and again? You will never be good at skating, leave that pathetic dream behind. Leave. The. Skates. Here,” he says as he strides over to me and plucks the skates from my numb fingertips.
He sends the tumbler in his hand flying across the room, the glass shattering into a million pieces, and I’m hardly breathing.
“Why must you try to be your mother?! You won’t ever be her! You are nothing. Nothing!” he roars in my face as a tear, the traitor, slides down my face, and I hate the satisfaction I see in his gaze as I cower away from him.
He stops my retreat, gripping my forearm in his fist and squeezing painfully until my arm starts to burn. A whimper escapes me before I can stop it.
“What are you, Kathleen?” he says in a deadly whisper, digging his fingers in deeper until I meet his gaze and answer him.
“I am nothing,” I repeat after the monster, like it's an ordinary day, my voice croaking on a gasp. He finally releases me, and blood starts flowing back into my arm, but it still feels like it’s going to fall off.
He carefully takes my skates and places them on the round table before walking away like nothing happened. Everything happened—the bruises forming on my arm, the cutting words that bleed me dry, and the feeling of being alone hit me right in the heart.
“Leave the skates and go fix your face. You look like a whore.” His last words echo around the room as he shuts himself back into his office to no doubt stare at her picture for hours.
I have some memories of Father before everything went downhill, most of them blurry, but he was there for Mom and me at one point. He’s always been a businessman first and loved my mom in his own way, I think. But looking back, it was a loveless household except for Mom. I felt even at a young age, he wasn’t made to have children. He never invested his time with me, I was just an object for showing off to his clients at dinner functions. My mom was the one who took care of me, taught me to bake, sang to me at night, and glided me across the ice for the first time. She was my rock…my whole world.
I suppress a sob by covering my mouth with my fist and quickly grab my skates. I’m running to get out of the house that isn’t home, and I know he won’t notice me missing for a couple of days. At least until I need to make an appearance so he doesn’t take my college education away or the small inheritance I have left from Mom. I sometimes hate my life.
Hailing a taxi, I watch the flashing lights of the street lamps go by in a blur, counting each one until I’m somewhat in control of my emotions again. I don’t want to show up at Mary’s dorm a hot mess and see the pity in her gaze as she looks at my tear-stained cheeks or the bruises forming on my arm. I can spend the night and go to the party tomorrow, just to pretend to have a normal college night for once. Who knows, maybe I’ll have a drink?
Arriving at the campus, I pay the driver and run into the building. Bypassing security with a nod, I make it to her dorm room in record time, only to see a sock on her door and hear loud moaning coming from the other side. I drop my head back on the wall, bouncing it a few times for all the luck I seem to have. Sliding down the wall, I plant my butt on the ground and wait what I’m thinking won’t be much longer. The moans are really getting louder and increasing, so the grand finale is almost to an end. Thank fuck.
