Page 6 of Guarded By the Phantom

I nodded, whispering, “No comment.”

She gave me one last once-over and nodded sharply. “Compose yourself, Barbara. You have to be strong, now more than ever. Ashfords and Kingsleys don’t bow before terrorists.”

She left my bedroom, and I ran to the bathroom to hurl.

I spent a long time hugging the toilet bowl and shaking as vile stuff came out of my mouth, burning my throat with acid. It was a good thing that it hurt, I thought, heaving as beads of sweat rolled down my spine. Pain was good. It helped me not to think.

Yet, when my stomach was finally empty, I had to stand up and face the music.

It still didn’t fully register with me. I’d been controlled by someone else, forced to say and do things I didn’t mean or want. I was recorded, and it was so utterly humiliating, I had no idea how I would force myself to leave the house. How did my mother expect me to go out there and face the paparazzi? It was beyond cruel.

The whole world saw me making rude comments about my father’s important work, smear chocolate all over my face, and belch. Everyone heard me moan sensually as I ate, and my heart wrenched at that. Somehow, it seemed even worse than the rest.

I could have handled belching alone. But the moans? It was just so unfair that the intimate sounds that should have been reserved for my first lover were public property now.

I felt stripped naked in ways that could never be undone.

My stomach heaved again, and I shook my head, throwing off my pajamas and stepping into the shower on shaky legs. I washed fast, knowing what I had to do next. When sudsy water swirled down the drain, I explored my body, looking for memories that weren’t in my head but might have been left on my skin.

With hesitant fingers, terrified of what I might discover, I traced every inch of me. I ran my fingers down my tender stomach, up my burning throat, down my hips and thighs, looking for bruises or sensitive spots.

Finally, I buried my fingers between my legs, certain I’d discover signs of intrusion, but everything felt normal. Untouched. It made me feel perversely disappointed, as if my mother was right. Since nothing happened to my body, it meant I was fine, didn’t it?

Who cared that my mind was raped?

I shut off the shower when tears crowded my eyes. I swallowed them back, every single one. I couldn’t cry. It would be visible even under makeup, and my mother wanted me to appear strong.

Ashfords and Kingsleys don’t cry.

No, we didn’t. And so I dried myself off, tightening all my muscles to stop them from trembling, and wrapped myself in a bathrobe.

I stopped in the threshold of my bedroom, taking in the space as my chest tightened. My room was too bright. It hurt my eyes with its light, and my soul—with its innocence. Decorated in creams and soft pinks, it used to be my haven, pure and full of light. But I was no longer safe, was I? Nor innocent.

I took my phone from where it lay on the bedside table and darted back in the bathroom. I settled in the dry bathtub and curled my spine against the cool porcelain. I found the video quickly, forcing myself not to look at the comments. They wouldbe vile, and they’d make me fall apart, I knew. Even watching the video again was risky, but I had to see it without my mother looming above me. I had toknow.

The woman on the screen looked at the person holding the camera, grinning loopily, but not in a way that suggested she was drunk. It was an open, genuine smile, the kind I very rarely wore, because it wasn’t the right type of smile. It wasn’t sufficiently demure.

Her pupils were blown wide, and there was a faint tick in the corner of her eye. Subtle signs of… the rape.

That was what it was. My mother would probably be appalled at me calling it that, but it was the only word that fit. I would use it, even if only in the privacy of my mind.

“I think my father’s current campaign is bullshit,” the mind-controlled me said, speaking with confidence and authority.

“He’s wasting time and money trying to regulate harmless foods millions of people in this country enjoy. He wants to overhaul the entire food production system because of a handful of falsified studies. Yes, they are all fake, and as his daughter, I know. He used to cheat at board games when I was a little girl, just so he’d win. I have no idea why so many Americans trust him!”

She rolled her eyes with exaggeration, like a spoiled teenage girl. All throughout this horrid speech, she waved her hands and gesticulated in a way I probably hadn’t done ever. Keeping my hands still and elegant had been drilled into me since age five.

When her left eyelid twitched hard, neither her smile nor her wildly gesticulating hands faltered. Whoever controlled her had her in a mental chokehold.

“He tells you it’s about the health of the nation, but it’s bullshit. All my father wants is to shut down companies that refuse to support him. And of course, since he’s a cheater, he hadthe data fabricated. What carcinogenic preservatives? Please! I eat products from Molson and I drink Fizzite soda every day!”

Dread pooled in my stomach as a small table laden with candy bars, sweet breakfast cereals, and purple cans of soda rolled in from the left, stopping against her knee. I knew what was coming, and it made me want to puke again even though my stomach was empty, everything already gone.

“But I have to do it in secret,” she continued with a conspiratorial smile, another expression I never wore. “My father is a snob and he doesn’t allow this type of food in the house. He has no idea how normal people eat, you know? He doesn’t even know how much food costs these days, and he wants to take away the cheapest, yummiest options on the American market. It’s a disgrace!”

She grabbed a handful of cookie-shaped cereal from an open bag and grinned into the camera. My insides twisted when she popped the entire fistful into her mouth, chewing crunchily as some spilled onto her blouse and gathered in her lap.

When she closed her eyes, releasing a sexual moan of pleasure, I cringed, my face burning from shame.

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