Page 6 of Defect
“That’s bullshit, but whatever.” I sat down on the bed and stared at the TV mindlessly because that’s all I could think to do. I was tired of thinking and hurting. I was tired of paying attention and trying to figure things out. Mom seemed like she wanted to take over so I was ready to let her.
Fuck this new life.
…
SOLANA
I woke in the dead of night when I heard the front door close. My eyes adjusted to the darkened room, honing in on the Hulk nightlight on the far wall by the door. The little body beside me curled into a tight, nervous ball. I was nervous too but I couldn’t let him know. I had to stay calm. I steadied my breathing and leaned down to kiss the top of his head. His soft curls brushed against my lips and he clung to me like I was his lifesaver.
I took slow steady breaths and shut my eyes. I hoped that Malachi remembered the deep breathing techniques I taught him. I wasn’t even supposed to be in the house right then but I couldn’t ignore Malachi’s texts about not being able to sleep.
I meditated while I held him and the only thing I concentrated on the entire time was keeping that child safe. As long as his father didn’t come into the room, he’d be fine. Unfortunately, Malachi’s dad was his biggest threat.
Heavy uncoordinated footsteps climbed the stairs and I pushed out a calm breath. I never stopped holding on to Malachi. I never stopped meditating. The footsteps paused in front of the bedroom door and I held the six-year-old tighter.
After what seemed like forever, the footsteps moved away from the room and down the hall. I pushed out a relieved breath and pressed another kiss to the top of Malachi’s head. The feeling of his muscles relaxing in my arms was the best feeling in the world.
“Go to sleep,” I whispered. He nodded against my chest and settled in for the night. I couldn’t sleep though. I had to make sure his father didn’t barge in his room in the middle of the night.
Time stretched on and on and even though I dozed on and off, I got zero rest.
When the sun started to rise in the sky. I woke Malachi up gently and tried to get him ready for kindergarten as quietly as possible. I snuck him into the hallway, careful not to put too much weight on the floorboards that I knew were creaky. Once we were in the bathroom, I helped him brush his teeth, only turning on the water when we needed to. I didn’t want to risk waking his father up.
“Malachi, where is your washcloth? We need to wash your face.” I peeked inside the shower and cringed. It clearly hadn’t been cleaned since I lived there. Gray grime crawled up the tiled wall while clusters of black pinpoints gathered in the corners. I swallowed back my disgust and shut my eyes. There was no washcloth in there and even if there were, I wouldn’t dare let him use it. I looked around but there was nothing in the tiny bathroom that I could use. With a heavy sigh, I wet the bottom of my T-shirt and washed his face using the tiny sliver of soap on the sink. I’d clean him up more when we got to my car.
“Come on, tyke. Let’s hurry up and get the hell out of here.”
“Before Daddy wakes up,” he muttered. I nodded and smoothed his dark curls back. His hair was getting longer. Now his crop of thick hair brushed against his earlobes.
Once some of the muck was wiped off his face, I rushed him back to his bedroom and made sure he got dressed. His pants were too short and his shirt was riddled with holes but he didn’t need to look perfect. I grabbed his tiny hand in mine and we breezed down the hall in a carefully coordinated way that didn’t disturb any squeaky spots. I held my breath the entire time. I refused to give my lungs any relief until we were outside.
The minute I turned the knob on the front door and squeezed us through the opening, I released my pent up breath and so did he. “I thought we’d never get out of there, Solo,” he said. He rushed down the street and we turned several corners before reaching my yellow Volkswagen bug.
Malachi buckled his seatbelt and finally let a smile cross his sandy brown face. His big doe eyes slid shut and he rolled down the window. He was on his own private vacation. His small chubby cheeks pushed upward even further when I started the engine. “Thanks, Solo,” he said.
“Let’s go get some breakfast and clothes, tyke.”
I drove to the closest Target and tossed a pair of jeans and a t-shirt in the basket. I also picked up a pack of socks and underwear for him. “If I get you a pack of baby wipes, can you keep them hidden? I want you to be able to clean yourself up. Remember how I taught you?” He nodded and walked alongside me fingering the soft fabric of the blue t-shirt I had in the basket. It had a bright green dinosaur on the front and it read:You’re RAWRsome. He couldn’t stop staring at it. I’d be lying if I said that his enthusiasm over something as basic as a t-shirt didn’t make my eyes sting with tears of anger and frustration.
No kid should be that enamored with a t-shirt. No kid should yearn for something that should be provided without a second thought. His father made my skin crawl. Bile crept up the back of my throat thinking about the fact that I used to sleep with that monster.
“Yeah. Face, underarms, privates.” He counted off on his fingers.
“Yup. You got it. Hide it in your special box. The one I got you with the lock. Where do you keep it?” I asked.
“In my closet under my clothes.”
“Very good, baby.” I picked up some food for lunch and then we checked out. Before we left, we stopped at Starbucks and I got him a bowl of oatmeal and a slice of banana bread. Malachi inhaled every bite like he’d never eaten. “When did you eat last?”
“I don’t know. Lunch at school yesterday. My account is empty though and I had to each a cheese sandwich.”
“That’s all?” I felt like screaming. I rubbed my forehead and took him to the bathroom after he was done eating. It was getting close to nine o’clock and he had to be at school.
“Are you gonna help me wash up? You don’t have to.”
“Yes. I swear I don’t know what you get into at school.” I ran hot water and put extra soap on one of the baby wipes I bought then I scrubbed his face clean.
“I like to play rough,” he told me with a grin. It amazed me that he could still be upbeat and happy-go-lucky with the shitty hand he was dealt. “I can wash up.” He took the wipes and went into a stall by himself. He was so independent. He also happened to be the smartest six-year-old I ever met. It was the only way we were able to communicate and that I could help him so much.
