Page 19 of The Pact

I tried my best to make him happy. Both because when I was little he had been a loving father and because at that point, frankly I was scared of him. He’d never hit me before that time and he never did after. But I lived in constant terror of doing something wrong.

I saw in his blue eyes, so similar to mine, that he wouldn’t hesitate to hit me again or worse. I had tried to bury my resentment deep in my heart, where he could never see it. Because he was infallible and if anyone was ever in the wrong it would always be me or Mom.

At the time I thought I could last another year until high school graduation. Then he started tightening the noose around my body and my mind even more.

The clothes became more and more modest and austere. I was told how to keep my hair, how to walk, how my gaze should be downcast.

I did it all because I thought college would mean freedom. Until it didn’t and Dad tried to take that from me too. Then I knew I had to go.

I smile at my reflection. I finally look like myself again. I’m allowed to smile, think, kiss boys.

I poke my tongue out, making a face at the mirror. Lifting my hair on top of my head, uncovering my neck and pursing my lips in a fake kiss. I do all that trying to silence his voice in my head.

“It’s vain, it’s dirty, it’s wrong. You almost got raped last night because your dirty soul now looks the same as your outer appearance.”

My first instinct is to cower, to wipe the lipstick off my face. I want to admit that he’s right as usual and I’m wrong.

No!

I shake my head, feeling the burning heat of my tears even before they start falling one after the other. I grab a tissue blowing my nose and fixing my hair and my skirt.

Dad is wrong about me. I just want to live a normal life, love and be happy and eventually successful. I want to show him that his teachings aren’t right.

So I’ll do what my heart is telling me and I know would make Dad lock me in the bathroom adjacent to his study and leave me there for hours. I’ll bake my famous brownies and bring them to the beach to thank Kelley and his friends for stepping in last night.

7.

Ownership

Bode

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I GET OUT OF THE WATER, dragging my board with me and stepping into the wooden shack where we keep our equipment.

Kelley is standing on the tiled floor, rinsing his sail with fresh water. He’s definitely the most talented out of the four of us, I have no problem admitting it.

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