Sixteen

Clara Addas








I text my father.
Time 16: 04p.m.: You've officially scarred me for life.
It wouldn't have been that bad if they weren't making disgustingly loud noises. They scared me stiff. I clench my eyes together so hard that I give myself a headache. I'll never recover.
Then I send another text:
16: 37 p.m.: I could hear you and Samantha all the way to the front door... Geez dad, that's NOT something I want to get home to.
I set off into the woods, the ground is thick with tall grass that sways in the light breeze and steam rises slowly from it. It rises up eerily and drifts mist-like towards the nameless trees. I cuss as I jog through the wet ferns. Once I'm at the meadow I sit against the tree and look at the horizon. Summer is rolling towards the end and the grounds are deserted, save for a few squirrels.
The wind has picked up, rustling the leaves in the trees. Even the wet grass stirs around me. I twist around, searching for comfort. When I find it, I close my eyes.
I sit like this for a while, taking a moment to reflect. My father means the world to me but at the same time, I love Daniel more than I love myself. I'd rather die than hurt him but keeping Papa's secret would be hurting him. Telling him would put a strain on their already shaky relationship.
What should I do?
This question storm clouds over me. I'm not in control. I hate losing control. I wallow in the falling darkness while the storm starts. I ride it out. When it passes, I'm soaked to the bone.
In the distance the lulling sound of a waterfall drifts by. I get up and creep down the trail, finding my way home. .
What little light is still left points a warning finger on the path, (get home, its getting dark) making it glow pink, the roots of the trees are also dunked in this fairytale glow.
I make my way home, running now. There are teenagers on the streets, most of whom I recognise, bouncing a soccer ball from this boy to that. I catch whiffs of fancy dinners, laughter spilling out of open windows and wafting into the streets.
I am about twenty feet from reaching home when I see him, Skylar. He is wearing the same clothes from earlier today, he stands with his back to the wall of an abandoned apartment building.
My heart leaps to my throat when one of his friends catches me staring. I shake my head and take a step back. I'm walking too close to them. Skylar cranes his neck to the side and studies the movement. I stop.
"I'm Clara Kadré. We met at lunch today, do you remember me?" I wave a little too hard at him, making the motion comical and I even throw in one of my best smiles. I don't even know why I bother. He's a rude jerk, who may or may not be stalking me.
He makes a sound, a deep rumbling in the chest, a growl? I don't know but it's definitely not a word. Can't he speak? His friends don't even look at me.
"So... er..." I fidget with the zipper of my jacket. Our eyes meet, I am transfixed but unlike those girls in novels there's no spark. There seems to be a warning in his eyes as though he knows something I don't. "Goodnight then."
I meander through the narrow street, which is vacant except for a man coming towards me with his face buried deep in his hood.
A millions knots assault my stomach.
Could he be here for me? Is he the man who's been calling me? He walks with a slight limp and so does Zain.
I move to the edge of the pavement and so does the man.
I skid to a stop and try to remember our last conversation. My mind erases everything. He's getting closer. The distance between us closing. Dammit, why didn't I take self defence lessons?
I warm up my vocal cords. If he tries anything I'll scream my lungs out. Acid churns in my stomach. My head is spinning. The man reaches me, bumps his shoulder into mine and continues on. The chill around my heart loosens but doesn't go away.
I race home. Scared now. The streetlights swirl as they swoosh by, each glint merging into the next. The bitter air hits my face. My heart beats in my ear, forcing my foot steps to retreat into a hollow, echoing distance.
When I reach home, I try the door and walk inside. My brother looks me over, narrowing his eyes on my face. He's rocking in his seat.
I rush to him. Something is wrong. "What is it?"
We stare at each other for a second and then he sighs, his gaze dropping to the microwave.
"There's food for you in the freezer," he tells me while he's pulling out a plate. "I can warm it up for you?"
"I don't think I can stomach anything tonight," I say. "Now tell me what's wrong."
"Nothing's wrong but where's your father?"
I shrug. "He was here when I left an hour or so ago."
Daniel pours me a glass of water. He stares at me for a good minute before he lets go of the glass. "He's never this late."
If you knew what he did you wouldn't be this worried.
I search the room, for something to do, something that isn't meeting my brother's probing gaze. There's one picture that hangs high near the door. It's of my mother and father. During the years their marriage was still in honeymoon phase. Two years of honeymoon phase, sixteen years of endless betrayal, hurt. "Did I say that out loud?"
Daniel nods, he's staring at the bucketing rain outside through the window.
I shrug. "It was nothing," I lie.
The last thing I need is to stir up trouble between them. I'll end up getting caught in the middle. Mama would know what to do. She always did. The sudden thought of my mother doesn't cause me much anguish, at least, nothing like the first time I heard she'd left us.
How could a woman choose whatever my mother chose over her only daughter?