Page 28 of The Good Girl

She pulls on her wrap, covering herself up, fastening the belt tightly as if it’s some sort of armor. Her perfect housewife façade is back in place as she gives me another once-over, her lips pressed tightly together. “I don’t like that Suliman girl, darling, I think it’s best if you don’t bring her home again.”

Snorting at the complete change of subject, I lay back down and push my aching body into a shoulder stand. How typical of my mother, to act as if nothing is wrong.

I listen to her footsteps fading as she heads back into the house. After a minute or so, the gentle padding pauses.

“Lena, if you don’t like how things are, change them.” By the time I’ve registered her whispered words, and get to my feet, she’s gone and I know this discussion is over. It isn’t until I’m in the shower half an hour later that it even sinks in. She called me Lena.

* * *

That evening at dinner my mother is back to acting like I don’t exist, while we act like she isn’t drunk. Her glazed expression clearly infuriates my father, who refuses to talk to her for most of the meal, which means his attentions are turned on me.

“We’ll be announcing the engagement at the masquerade, my campaign team thinks that’s best for maximum effect,” he states calmly in his nasally voice as if he isn’t mapping out my life for me regardless of what I want. “You will of course perform your violin solo first, so that the voters in this town are reminded of what a talented woman I have made you.”

Hemademe.

The womanhemademe.

The words swim in my head on repeat as I sit with my mouth shut, like I was raised to. I was well behaved. Well trained. He carries on, oblivious to the storm that’s raging inside my rib cage, tearing my apart from the inside.

“Your music tutor says that you are not where she expects you to be in order to perform next month. Have you been practicing?” His condescending gaze fixates on me, and I swallow a mouthful of the lukewarm soup we were being served this evening.

“Of course, Father.” I look away, the intensity of his gaze making me uncomfortable. All I did was practice, whether it was for debate or cheerleading or ballet or violin. I practiced until my feet had fractures and my fingers bled. I pushed until my throat was raw and my voice faded. I jumped and cheered and stretched myself until I felt like my skin would snap off my bones.

Wiping his face gently with his napkin, he stares straight ahead, and I know I am not going to like the next words out of his mouth. He always did this, avoided looking at me, when he knew I might object because he didn’t want to deal with a child, he would tell me. “Well, I have obtained permission for you to use the music room during your lunch breaks and free periods. I expect you to make adequate use of this opportunity.”

He wanted me to give up the very little free time I had left. Because what I gave already, wasn’t enough. The blood, sweat and tears weren’t enough. The years I’d dedicated weren’t worth anything to him.

My mother’s words from earlier ring in my ears, the only lifeline in the storm. “I would like to withdraw from cheerleading,” I say, sitting back in my chair with my shoulders back as I steeled myself for another glare.

His eyes don’t even flicker my way, his voice full of scorn. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Balling up my napkin in my first, I know that I have to say something now or else I won’t say anything at all. “I’m struggling with my studies, and if you would like me to focus more on my musical talents, I need to sacrifice something.”

Now he’s looking at me, his nostrils flared and the muscle in his jaw twitching. “What you need is better time management, and to spend less time with your flighty cousins.”

“I can’t keep this up.” Twisting the napkin, it cuts into the skin on my hands. “I’m going to burn out.”

“Stop being dramatic.” Rolling his eyes, my father makes an irritated sighing sound. Raising his hand, I flinch. But he only summons the housekeeper. “Mrs. Leeks, please remove Elena’s food, she is done for the evening. She needs to use this time to study since she's falling behind.”

“Randolph…” My mother hisses, from her place opposite me. Her jaw is set in a firm line as she locks eyes with my father. I wait, praying that she’ll speak up. That she’ll say something.

He holds up his hand to silence her. “No, Adeline. We agreed that I was responsible for her education and you would be responsible for her membership.”

My mother’s mouth remains closed. Any words she might have said on my behalf, swallowed. I should have known better. What did he mean, that she was responsible for my membership? Did he mean my Initiation for The Society?

“Besides,” he continues, “she still needs to lose a few extra pounds or the Zuhair Murad dress Claudia has chosen for her won’t fit.”

My mother brings her glass to her lips, but doesn’t drink, instead using it to hide the strange expression on her face. The rage simmers away once again inside me and I can’t stop the myself as I snarl, “Fuck Claudia.”

The expression on my father’s face quashes anything else I was going to say. He’s angry, and when my father is angry, his punishments are cruel and exhausting.

“Mrs. Leeks, bring the straw mat and place it outside my office.” The housekeeper nods and I clench my jaw as she scurries off. “You know the punishment, Elena, three hours should suffice.”

Biting my tongue to keep my tone polite, I manage to grin out, “I have homework, and I need to practice with my violin.”

“And this is why you have poor time management and reasoning skills. You are wasting time arguing with me.” Leaning back in his chair, my father holds his hands together, fingers interlocking across his bloated stomach. “If you had refrained from using foul language about my publicist, you wouldn’t be spending three hours on your knees outside my office. Actions have consequences, Elena.”

I lower my eyes, because if he looked at me now, he’d see that I was still drowning. The storm was still raging inside me, and if I wasn’t careful, I wouldn’t be able to contain it for much longer.

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