Silence hovered above us like a dark cloud once again. I had noticed then, silence was needed to continue this delicate conversation, for without it we would both drown; I – in the raging sea of frustration and confusion, and she – in her swamp of sorrow.
"Please, don't rush me on this one," she urged, face contorting in pain.
I shook my head. "I won't."
Her eyes closed slowly, the skin around them wrinkling and relaxing.
If you sat were I sat, on that little chair right in front of her, and watched the way her wimpled face grooved from emotion to emotion, you'd think she was rewatching a scene from a movie she sincerely loathed. Her forehead would crease in disgust, and smoothen in acceptance. And mouth would stiffen, then weaken. And jaws would tighten, and slack a moment later.
What did she think about? What did she see? Was she imagining my dad? Imagining what he had done? Was it that bad? What could he have possibly done? I was intrigued.
I studied her lines, hoping to pry out a clue. Studied her slightly perky nose, her rigid lips, slim cheeks. Her wan complexion. A little mold? I narrowed my eyes. Yes, a mold. Almost invisible. Near her left brow—
"On the night you were born," she suddenly spoke, making me wince, "he came back without you but instead brought with him his men. Those two so-called 'bodyguards'. His explanations were brief. 𝘎𝘦𝘵 𝘶𝘱. 𝘞𝘦'𝘳𝘦 𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘉𝘢𝘣𝘺. It was around three in the morning. I was still sleepy and impaired from the meds, so his words were mostly a vague slur. But it was a haste, that much I know."
I opened my mouth to say something provocative, but decided to not break her train of thought. 𝘓𝘦𝘵 𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘬, I told myself. 𝘋𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘳𝘶𝘴𝘩 𝘩𝘦𝘳.
"I remember putting my clothes into the luggage. Asking about you. Asking if we were going back to Washington. If I'm not mistaken, he said yes to every question, confirmed my every hope, to see you, to see my father. To see the world..." she scoffed under her breath. "Maybe to shut me up, who knows…And then—" a halt. She swallowed. And if there were any remnants of pink on her cheeks, it all drained to sickly paleness.
"And…then?" I couldn't help myself.
"He…he…he…"
𝘏𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵? "He what?"
"Hurt me," she exhaled the answer.
"Hurt you how?"
"He…he…"
"What?" I prompted. "Did he hit you or something?!"
"Yes." She heaved, this time with relief. "I don't remember much of it now. It's been so long. But I remember—"
"What?" I insisted.
"Heat…rain…it felt good...No," she clipped. "I—don't remember."
My shoulders fell in great disappointment.
"I don't remember. Don't remember. I don't——no I don't remember a thing." She reiterated.
𝘓𝘪𝘦𝘴, I thought, watching her explicitly disquieted visage. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰. 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦𝘮𝘣𝘦𝘳.
"What had he done?" I asked. I was relentless once again.
"Genevieve…" she uttered, murky green eyes caressing my oblivious expression. "Genevieve." She repeated, as if tasting the word on her tongue. "I had named you Melody. But even that he had taken from you…"
I stared at her with that unwavering frown. "𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘎𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘷𝘪𝘦𝘷𝘦." I pronounced assertively. "Always was. Always will be."
She said nothing, only gave me the saddest smile.
𝘔𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘥𝘺. 𝘞𝘏𝘖 𝘪𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘔𝘦𝘭𝘰𝘥𝘺?
"What had he done?" I demanded.
"He is a bad man." Was all she said.
"Bad man…" I echoed flatly. "You're not going to tell me, are you…"
"I am sorry, Melody."
"Genevieve." I corrected sharply. "Don't ever call me Melody."
"You're right. I won't. I'm sorry…"
Her apologies could not stop the vortex of emotions that was accumulating inside of me. There she was, I thought, 𝘮𝘺 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳. The perfect person at whom I could BLOW THE FUCK UP.
"Melody will never know what Genevieve knew." I said. "You don't want to talk about your miserable past? Well, I can talk about mine all right."
"Genevieve—"
"No listen," I cut her off. "You say you were in captivity for what, nine months? Well, I was a prisoner for thirteen years. Lived like a dog. Eat by command, walk by command, sit by command, bark by command."
She opened her mouth to speak but had no chance against my wrath.
"Beatings, you say? Do you know how many times I'd been beaten by the lady who is apparently not even my family? Locked in a balcony without food or water for an entire day? Forced to kneel on rice and recite Lord's Prayer to bleeding knees for 𝘵𝘸𝘰 𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴 for doing something out of the Bible's guidelines? Talking about misery…You've no idea what I'd been through."
She seemed grief-stricken by my angry rambling. But I didn't care for what she felt, went off on her like there was no tomorrow.
"But as you can see I've survived those 'bad people'. They're just blind to discern what they're doing. Their love for god has turned them into fanatics. At the end, though…they were still family, fed me, clothed me, brought me to school, tried their best on me…including dad. So, either you tell me now what he'd done to you that was so monstrous, or I will not take one word from your book as true. I will simply get up and walk out of this door right now."
Silence.
"You love your dad, Genevieve." She confirmed bleakly.
I had to 𝘱𝘧𝘧𝘧𝘵! at that one. "Tell me if I have a choice, 𝘮𝘰𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳. He's the only dad I've got."
She nodded slowly, as if to herself more than to me. "Let's keep it that way."
"What had he done to you." My temples throbbed with frustration. And she could only give me her dismayed look that would frustrate me further.
"I've told you enough. He betrayed me. Stole from me. Took you away. Had another family. Disposed of me."
"𝘏𝘰𝘸 did he dispose of you?"
"That…" I watched her chest rise to full expended rigidness. "That I won't tell you."
"Why not."
"He is your father."
"Stop repeating what I already know and just tell me."
She shook her head. "You're not ready."
"I am ready."
"You're not."
"I am."
"Not yet."
My fists banged against the flimsy top of that little desk behind which I sizzled all this time. "Fine. You won't speak? Then I'll find out everything myself." I fumed. "But when I find out what had really happened, don't lament about how you hoped to be the one to tell you the truth."
"Genevieve, please!" She raised her voice in the name of begging but I was already gone.