Page 31 of Twisted (Never After)
It wasn’t new, me going to her room to try to protect her from him. For some reason, he never took his anger out onme, so I’d stay next to Mamma whenever I could, hoping that my presence would be enough to keep her from turning black and blue.
Sometimes it worked.
Other times, I’d have to lie still with my eyes closed, pretending I didn’t hear him drag her away from me while his fists met her flesh and her whimpers hit my ears.
That night, I threw open her door, closing it behind me just as the front screen slammed open and shut. My breaths quickened as I ran to her bed, stopping at the side.
She was awake. Her body was still as stone and her head was flat on the pillow, but her dark gaze was locked on me.
“Mamma,” I whispered, my eyes wide.
Silently, she stretched out her arms toward me.
And like every other time before and all the times after, I went, curling into her embrace and allowing her to hold me close.
I was her shield the same way I was often her burden, holding the weight of her pain that she couldn’t bear alone.
Heavy footsteps rumbled through the tiny apartment, making the seconds feel like hours, until they stopped right outside the closed bedroom door.
Mamma’s grip tightened around my small frame, her breaths ghosting across the back of my neck.
The door opened and Papà walked in.
“Anita…” His voice trailed off, and silence draped across the room like a weighted blanket.
I slammed my eyes shut, pretending to be asleep and praying that he wouldn’t hear my heart thudding heavily against my chest. But I could feel his eyes on me even when I couldn’t see.
He sighed deeply, and then he turned around and left, the muted sound of local television bleeding through the thin walls.
Slowly, my sweaty palms opened from where they were curled into fists, and my breathing evened out.
Mamma was safe from him, which meantIwas safe from her.
At least for that one night.
I spent days after praying he would leave again. But he never did, and that small bit of happiness that had taken root inside me curdled and began to rot until it was nothing more than a pipe dream. After a while, it became something I couldn’t even grasp the memory of.
So I held on to a vision instead. One where I was bigger and stronger than Papà and could make sure he never hurt Mamma again. I started sneaking off down the street to watch the hapkido classes until one day the instructor opened the door and let me come inside. I was nevertechnicallyenrolled in the courses, so I never got a belt. Never had someone there to cheer me on. But I didn’t care about the accolades. I just wanted to feel strong. Powerful. Like I could protect myself and Mamma from the people who wanted to hurt us most.
I didn’t understand fully back then that it was my mother who was actually causing the deepest wounds. I only knew that she wasmineand that meant I had to take care of her, because that’s what you’re supposed to do for people you love.
You choose them. You put them first.
And then one day, Ididbecome bigger than my father. Stronger than him. And he made the mistake of gifting me my most prized possession to celebrate the fact.
A python for my sixteenth birthday. The only gift he’s ever given me, in honor of me becoming a man.
“You know the thing about snakes?” he’d said. “They’re feared. And that makes them powerful.”
I named her Isabella.
And then I stole one of the wooden staffs from the hapkido dojo and used it to beat him until he couldn’t stand.
One strike for every bruise he put on Mamma.
Another for every bruise she put on me.
I dragged him out to the back alley in the middle of the night, put rats on his broken body, and let Isabella out to play. She sniffed out her prey with her tongue, mistaking him for food, courtesy of the rodents, and started to curl her scaly body around him. I stood back and watched, twirling the staff around in my hand, enjoying the way his blood vessels burst and his eyes bulged as she coiled around his neck, squeezing until he died.
