I storm into the house, out of breath, my eyes searching for signs that Mum has come home. Her shoes are not here, nor her sweater, nor she herself. Thank goodness! I sigh. If she were here, she’d ask me where I’d been and I’d have to confess. And I’d have to listen all evening to a lecture about my miserable life of isolation that awaits me. No, under no circumstances can she find out about the library. It’s convenient that Dad just lies there thinking about his problems; he doesn’t give a shit what I do. I secretly wish he’d scold me again if that’s all it would take to get him back to his old self.
I open the fridge and grab out a food container of cabbage casserole to heat up. I deliberately don’t get it out on a plate, so I have less dishes to wash. The dishwasher broke weeks ago, and my Mum and Dad seem to be purposefully not calling a repairman just to screw with me.
As the food swirles in the microwave, its delicious smell leaks out. After a few bites, I pull a foreign piece of hair out of my mouth. As I chew, the gristle of minced meat cracks under my teeth, while elsewhere it’s soft from all the fat. I no longer crave it. Mandy tells me that I must have been fattened up like this by our cook at home… good joke, we don’t even have a maid. Which sucks in a three-story house. But that’s just the way it is with “bourgeois”; cheapskates. And the kid needs to learn how tough real life is…
I go into the pantry for a bag of chips and a bar of chocolate. I need a snack for studying, and because I’m hungry and can’t cook. I stuff the loot into my bag, sling it over my shoulder and retreat to my room.
However, when I reach the turn of the stairs, a strange urge pushes me to keep going to the second floor. I stop in front of my parents’ bedroom. The door is ajar, the blinds are down, Dad is sprawled on the bed, and though I can only see his feet from the hallway, icy fingers of fear caress the back of my neck. I touch my face where he hit me yesterday. Only the memory hurts now.
How did it come to this? It seems like yesterday that Dad, Mum, David and I were spending all day hiking in the mountains or going to the cinema, studying the constellations, playing badminton, board games… we were having fun. Our laughter rings in my ears. Especially Dad’s deep, happy voice. I hated these programs. Because they were compulsory, and I wanted to be in my room with David, playing videogames. Yet, now I would smash my computer with my own hands if it meant I could have just one of those moments back. Even if he doesn’t understand me. He never did.
But what about me? Do I understand him?
What do I know about losing parents, about the feeling of having no one to turn to. When all the responsibility is yours and there’s a whole layer of society watching what you do with it. When you inherit so much money out of nothing that you don’t need to work anymore, yet you don’t know what to do with all that time you have. With the pressures of loneliness and expectations…
“Dad…” I say, barely audible. “I just… I just want you to know that I’m not mad at you for yesterday. And for the ones before. I know, I’m just a kid who can’t understand your problems… But I’d be happy to listen.”
Silence.
“Of course, I understand if you don’t want to talk. You don’t have to, it was a stupid idea.” I say. “I just wanted to… Do you remember when I was going to the lookout and I was hysterical about being tired and you put me on your shoulders? Or when we were picking mushrooms? I miss the woods, the nature, the fresh air, the walks… I was thinking we could go out this weekend, if you feel like it. I think it would be good for you, too. What do you think?”
The bed’s creaking. My knees buckle up, ready to flee, but I swallow hard, pulling myself together. I have to hold on. I can’t run away. Not now.
The light filtering in through the crack in the door draws a narrow, yellow stripe across his pajama-clad form. I force my guilt-stricken eyes to look into his stubbled face. His gaze is veiled. Perhaps from tears. I wait for him to say something.
He closes the door. Then he locks it.
Every part of me is rebelling against this rejection. So much so that I reach for the handle and then…
Those pale, lifeless eyes…
My tongue sticks like a dry sponge to the roof of my mouth. There’s not a door between us. But an endless, unbridgeable chasm.
But why?!
Because you are not enough.
With bitten lips, I fight back tears, rush down the stairs and into David’s old room. The cold abandonment hits me hard in the chest. I drop my bag, stirring up the half-year-old dust on the carpet. Everything is as it was when he left. Blue wallpaper, TV, models of fantasy characters on the shelves, signed posters of streamers on the wall, monitor and keyboard on the desk. He even left his computer behind. Wardrobe door open, clothes scattered about. It’s obvious he left the sinking ship in a hurry. It’s been like this for ages, but I can’t bring myself to tidy it up and clean it. It’s as if I’m desecrating my brother’s memory.
My grief suddenly turns to anger, I kick a pile of old T-shirts.
Fuck you! Why the fuck did you leave me here?! Mr. Perfect, who always knew the answer to everything, could talk to Mum and Dad, make peace between them… He’s nowhere to be found!
I lay down on the grey plaid bedding, put my tear-stained glasses on the bedside table, and bury my overheated face in the cold pillow. I inhale the stale, powdery scent of David’s shampoo. It’s weakened a lot in recent months. It terrifies me that it will soon disappear completely, just as he has from my life.
But why do I let him disappear?
I put my glasses back on and take out my mobile phone to text him.
“Hi! I miss you. You’re often on my mind, especially since I’m not as skilled and wise as you to handle the tension here… Anyway, it’s bad to start with complaining. How are you? Did you see Metamorph’s stream yesterday? It is said to have been quite shocking. I’ve only heard parts of it, but it’s hard to imagine he’s bisexual and polygamous. Somehow I always pictured him as straight xD Maybe we could watch it together sometime. If you want, we could meet, if Sophie…”
I delete the whole text. Sophie wouldn’t like that. She’d get jealous, maybe even quarrel, and I’d rather disappear than cause trouble in David’s marriage. So I take off the glasses again, crawl under the covers and imagine him holding me in a comforting embrace. Tightly, just like when we locked ourselves in during one of the fights and Dad smashed the glass door on us, and David shielded me with his body from the shards of glass that were raining down on us. For a moment, I feel so safe. My limbs, which had been ready to jump for weeks, go limp, sink into the soft mattress…
Someone bursts into the room, turns on the light. My God, when did I fall asleep? I immediately reach for my glasses and squint at the figure stalking towards me, my head suddenly struck by the light.
“Someone’s got it good here, getting to sleep all day! Do you think this is all right?” Mum shoves her smartphone in my face, almost too big to fit between her fake-nail fingers. Although her hand is shaking with excitement, I immediately recognise the electronic gradebook. My throat tightens with fear and I suddenly want to be somewhere else. Anywhere.
“Tell me, what do you see?”
“Did I fail the test…?” I gasp in agony.
“Louder, so your father can hear!”
“Math: F!“ The held back tears sting.
My father stands in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, his dead eyes brought back to life by anger.
“Did you really think you deserve privileges like going on a trip with us?”
His sharp words peel the skin from my soul. I just wanted to be kind… to see him start living again. And behold, he’s regained his strength, just to humiliate me.
“What?!” She puts her hand on her hip. “We shouldn’t even let you out of your room!”
“It’s not as if I go that many places…” I pull my knees up to my chest. I’d like to pull the covers over my head, just so I don’t have to see the alliance that’s forming between them.
“Your father told me that you got home after four again today, even though you only had class until one thirty-five.”
She picks up my bag and dumps its contents on the carpet. The chips and chocolate, the textbooks and notebooks crumple to the floor, then a Christie Golden book and two adult books.
“Did you just pop into the library? If you can read, you shouldn’t spoil your eyes with rubbish like that!” She swats the erotic anthology “Touch Me” with his foot and kicks the pile of books.
No, no! I quickly pick them up and hold them close to me. I couldn’t bear it if they got damaged and I’d have to beg them for money to pay the compensation.
“Sure, hug them tightly. You won’t get to hug anyone else in your miserable life anyway. Nobody wants a freeloader. And if you keep going like this, you’ll never get anywhere. You’re gonna be a fucking garbage man or a janitor, not a lawyer!”
“Who wants to be a lawyer?!” My voice is shaking, just like I do. I can barely stand her glare, but I hold on just the same. “I’ll take librarianship.”
“Would you sully the Morawa name with such a lowly degree? Would you bring shame on your grandfather? And me?” Dad is coming closer.
As if his idleness would greatly honour Grandfather’s memory.
“My daughter is not going to be a bookworm who spends all day stacking blanket novels. Ridiculous.”
“Just leave it, if she keeps it up, she won’t be accepted anywhere.” Mom says. “So I suggest you get your fucking act together, girl, if you don’t want to spend your life scrubbing other people’s shit off the toilet bowl. Of course, your needs might be met by this. But not ours. If you think we’re going to stand idly while you fuck up your life, you’re sorely mistaken. You will apply to law school. Whether you want to or not.”
“Or you can go wherever you like, because I’m not going to support you any longer,” Dad adds.
“I called your math teacher so you can correct your grade. You’d better start studying right away, because if you screw up tomorrow’s test, I’ll smash your damn computer, which you’ve been messing with all night!” She turns her back.
“Even if I study, it would mean nothing if I can’t sleep! You two are at each other’s throats every night until dawn!”
Mum stops on the threshold, looks back. For a moment I’m sure she’ll come and hit me, just like Dad did yesterday. Instead, she just looks at me with those icy black eyes. When she speaks, her voice is as cold as her eyes.
“There are problems in every family. Shifting your responsibility onto someone else is a shameful thing that no one will tolerate. I strongly recommend you stop doing that. Or you’ll die alone.”
In deep agreement, they exit contentedly and slam the door behind them.
Of course. They can do anything. Everything. I can almost hear the sound of my mother’s stiletto heels smashing into the screen of my laptop. They can take away anything I hold dear. I am at their mercy. Oh, David, if only someone would come along in my life too that I could cling to and escape! Anyone. Even someone like Sophie, who’s so jealous I could only see you once a month.
But why do I need someone? Why can’t I do it alone? If I study hard enough, get good grades, graduate college, get a good paying job…
I reach for my math book, but as soon as I pick it up, I put it down. Come on… I’ll never understand it.
But what if I can do it?
I open the book, but my enthusiasm soon evaporates. It’s as if it were written in an unknown language. Despair takes hold, the numbers flow into words before my tired eyes.
You’ll be a garbage man.. You’ll spend a lifetime scrubbing other people’s shit off the toilet bowl… You’ll die alone…
What am I trying for? I’m just kidding myself. I close the book, as if I can shut the words out of my head.
I reach for my mobile phone to open Metamorph’s video from yesterday, when I see that he has uploaded a new one this noon. How strange; he usually post videos in the evening. I scroll in. I’m immediately lost in his sky-coloured eyes, my mind filled with his blue hair shimmering in the monitor light, his calm, raspy voice. And, of course, the airy movements of the legendary white-haired elf as he slaughters demon after demon in the dungeon.
“… many of you have been asking whether you can see me at this year’s World Championship. I’m not keeping it a secret: yes, I will be there. I’ve had enough of the depression caused by last year’s failure. I’m going to prepare harder and do my best to overcome my stage fright. Yes, I know, there are seven hundred and fifty-eight thousand of you watching at the moment, but it’s completely different to play in a huge arena, to hear your fans live, to feel how much you love me – or what I do, at least. I’m depressed by the risk of losing it all. But of course that’s silly.” He smiles, with the kind of heart-stopping smile that makes thousands of girls faint.
“I’m the best player the world ever had.” he says, so modestly, so full of complexity, that I want to hug him.
I wish I could see it live! I wonder if Bill would like that? Maybe he’s watching this very video and daydreaming about the same thing. It would be great to travel to the Championship together, share the enthusiasm, analyse the gameplays! And then afterwards…
The scene on the bus this morning, when he pulls me to him… and then down to bed. He kisses me, gently at first, then more intensely. As if he’d been dreaming about it for years, since the first time we met. Of me. The girl who understands him, his thoughts, his feelings. His long fingers digging demandingly under my top, and me trembling to give every inch of my body to him. And to have more of him. I wrap my legs around his narrow hips, his manhood bulging beneath his trousers pressed against my pubic mound. I let out a low moan. I reach into his shaggy black hair to pull him closer, but our lips are already connected. Our lips part for a moment, he removes his shirt and I stroke his toned muscles. He removes my clothes, which makes me feel a little embarrassed, but he takes possession of my body with such eager pleasure that my doubts are dispelled and I feel like the most attractive woman in the world…
The sound of a struggle pulls me back from the double bed in the hotel to David’s bedroom.
Who would fuck a pig?
I take my hands away from my body. On the screen of my phone, an athletic man is banging a young girl with perfect curves. His huge cock dives again and again into her clean-shaven pussy.
Shame overwhelms me. How did I get here?
Mum and Dad are yelling. One half of me is curious and encourages eavesdropping, while the other is fed up with it for life. What if they come up and catch me not studying?
Fuck them! – I take out my headphones and switch back to Metamorph’s video, which I have no idea when I have stopped watching. I’m lost in his voice, letting his words permeate my soul and make me forget the hell that’s going on around me, the pain of loneliness. Looking at the chat, I realize I’m not so alone after all. I could write a comment…
No one would respond and it would only hurt more.
The house shakes, signaling the garage is opening and Dad is leaving.
I secretly wish he wouldn’t come back.