KEILANI UCHE
My heart is pounding and threatening to fall out of my chest. I dread going home when my parents start fighting or arguing. The house becomes unbearable and horrifying. If I am this modified, I wonder how Cyril would be right now. I rest my head on the back seat foam and dig my hand into an old wound, and a rippling excitement warms my heart and distracts me from the thoughts in my head.
I need to stop with the palm digging. I will get caught, and I can't begin to imagine what mum and dad will do. I need to look for a loophole just in case.
I step out of the car and walk into our six bedroom house. I twist the door knob and enter into the house, and I am greeted by my parents bickering from their room.
"Don't walk out on me," dad warns, and I rush to the stairs before I am trapped by dad's angry gaze.
I open Cyril's door, and I see his personal nanny, Maria, trying to distract my little brother, who is lost in thought.
Maria's gaze meets mine, and she greets me, and I nod.
"I will take it from here," I inform her, and she nods and leaves us, and I shut the door.
I sit beside Cyril, and he doesn't even take notice. I wonder what he is thinking about, and he is just 8. I need to do a better job protecting him from all these. I nudge him, and his eyes widen as he hugs me so tight that if he wasn't so little, my bones would crack. I hug him back and kiss his forehead.
"I am scared," Cyril's words shatters me, and I am grateful his head is buried on my chest or he would see how affected I am by his words
I am scared, too.
"I am here, aren't I?" His sad eyes stare into my frightened eyes, and he nods. A sad smile escapes his lips.
"Why do dad and mum fight a lot?" He asks a question that I don't have the answer to, so I had to say the only thing I can think of.
"They don't fight Cyril. They are just talking in loud voices so that they can be heard," I lie.
"So dad won't hit mum like he almost did before?" His question makes my heart sink into my stomach.
"What?" Please, God, let it be. I didn't hear him right.
"Dad and mum were quarreling a few weeks ago, and dad almost hit mum but stopped. I guess he saw me. That was why he stopped" his eyes are filled with built-up tears, and my chest aches me so much that my head had to be a copycat and hurt me too.
"I was scared, Sister Mandisa" tears roll down his cheeks, I push his head back into my chest and caresse his back. There is a niggling pain in my chest.
He almost hit mum. Why? Why have they been fighting more recently than they ever did?
Their voices becomes louder and more hostile. So, I had to look for a cartoon to play for Cyril on YouTube on my phone as a means of distraction. I find one and insert an earpiece into the hole meant for it and give the phone to Cyril and the pod into his ears.
I hear the slam of the door and accompanied by heavy footsteps that sounded like footsteps of a million mean people strolling in group or a better example is, it sounds like thousands military men matching during training. That footstep sends electric waves through my chest and seizes my air flow.
I stand up and hide in Cyril's closet. He stares at me, and I place my index fingers on my lips, shunning him, and he nods in understanding.
I hear the footstep halt in front of Cyril's room and the pounding on my chest from earlier resumes, and my hands twitches, and I shut my eyes and take deep breaths.
Calm down, Keilani. Dad won't hurt you. You are just overreacting.
"Why is this door close?" Dad's mean voice ask.
"Sorry sir" Cyril apologizes in a terrified voice, and the heavy footsteps retreat.
I release a deep breath of relief. I step out of the closet. I kiss Cyril's forehead and promised to be back. I leave for my parents' room and knock on the door.
"Come in" mum's tired voice gives me permission.
Her back is turned against me as she stands in front of her gigantic window. Her high king-size bed at the corner of the room opportunity a TV and home theater and a fridge beside the home theater.
"Oh honey. You are back" she spread out her hand, and I stroll to her and hug her and feel her soothing hug, calming a little of the fear rushing through me.
"How was school?" She kisses my forehead.
"It was good" I answer, and she nods.
"Bath and come down for a little meal before service" she shush me by playfully pushing me off and I smile and hug her one last time inhaling her intoxicating scent that has more control over me than I realize.
I let go of her, and when I halt at her door. A sad smile creeps across her face, and I walk away, and I hear her let out a heavy breath of relief as the door shuts.
I understand how exhausting putting up a show is. I understand that more than you might think.
~
"Let us go" dad drops his spoon and fork after he is done eating and brings me back to reality.
"But she is not done eating" Mum tries to reason with dad, but he doesn't care, or maybe he is doing it to punish Mum, or is it me? I honestly don't know, and I don't have the mental ability to decipher it right now.
"That will teach her not to fiddle with her meal. There are beggars on the street begging for crumbs, and here she is been ungrateful" Dad shuns, and I feel his gaze on me, and I dare not lock eyes with him.
"Don't let me wait for you in the car," he storms off, and I drop the spoon and fork and walk closely behind dad. I didn't bother to glance as mum or Cyril or I might lose it.
~
Dad steps out of the car and I shimmied close to the door and place my hand on the door frame and dad shut the door into my hand and a sharp pain travels from my fingertip to my brain and I use the other hand to cover my mouth to prevent a yelp or a groan from escaping my lips. Dad just walks into the house like he didn't just stop my heart from beating for a second or two.
I open the door and release my hand, and there is a new cut on my finger - another spot to self-harm on. Tears roll down my cheeks, and I wipe it off with the back of my palm and walk into the house.
~
I lie down, and my chest aches so much that I keep tossing on the bed and groaning and hissing like a troubled person. Why can't I sleep? Why can't I sleep like a normal person?
What happens when digging my nails into my skin isn't as effective anymore? What would be my new coping mechanism?
I sit up and open the drawer beside my bed and grab a pen knife, and open it. I fight the urge to keep it back and listen to the faint voice telling me not to create a new injury, but the negative voice only grows louder.
Cut your thigh
Slice your wrist open
Don't do it.
Drop it back. Think about dad's reaction
I took the knife from the kitchen a couple of days ago, just in case. I have this fear that there will come a day I will outgrown skin digging and want more. So I took the knife so that I would be ready when the time came.
I drop the knife back into the drawer and fall back on the bed and groan. I don't want to open up old wounds, but that is the only way I can sleep. That is the only way to drown the voices in my head. I am slowly addicted to this without realizing it. I give in and give into my addiction. I shut my eyes and dig my nails into my palm and let out a breath of relief as this splendid sensation consumes me whole, and I slowly close my eyes and drift to sleep.