But I’m past that age where I let him do that on my behalf. The real world without him is much scarier and full of people who wouldn’t hesitate to snuff me out, but I have to do this on my own.
Like I survived that black day on my own.
Papa shifts, allowing a hint of his home office to appear behind him. “I’m still worried. I wish you were still my little Cecy who hugged my thigh and rode my shoulders.”
Me, too, Papa.
“Unfortunately, growing up is mandatory.”
“Don’t I know it?” He shakes his head as if expelling an unpleasant thought. “Tell me all about school. Is everything okay? Is anyone bothering you? Do you have a boyfriend, and does he know that if he touches you, his parents will lose a son? Or maybe it’s a girlfriend, who still shouldn’t touch you unless her parents are ready to lose a daughter?”
“Papa!”
“What? I need to cover all the bases. You haven’t dated any guys since secondary school, so I thought maybe you’d realized you play for a different team. But you would’ve told me, right? You know I would support you no matter what, right?”
I raise a brow. “Does that mean you’ll be more lenient if I introduce you to a girl?”
“No, but I wouldn’t, say, hit her or anything.”
“You shouldn’t hit a guy either.”
“Of course I would. Boys are little wankers.”
I shake my head. “I’m straight, Papa. Annoyingly so.”
“Ah, fuck. So you really have a boyfriend? Name? Family name? Age? Address? IQ?”
“I don’t have a boyfriend.”
He narrows his eyes. “Oh, he’s good. He’s really good if he’s already making my honeybee lie to me.”
“Papa, stop calling me that. That was for when I was five.”
“Not hearing that. I will, however, hear about this boyfriend that you’re hiding from me.”
“Who has a boyfriend?” Mum’s soft voice comes from the other end.
I pause, rub the side of my nose once, and grip my pen tighter.
Kimberly Knight is the most beautiful woman I know, with her lithe figure, her bright smile, and the green highlights in her brown hair. Even the cut marks on her wrists give her a different type of unconventional beauty.
I heard that she refused to erase those cut marks with surgery, because she was never ashamed of them.
But sometimes, during gray days, she wears long sleeves and tugs them down to cover her wrists so no one sees them.
Her beautiful floppy dress swishes with her movements as she sits beside Papa.
Something magical happens when Papa looks at her. His eyes soften before they explode in a myriad of stars.
I grew up watching them not only irrevocably in love, but also so reverent of one another that I doubt any other two people could adore, uplift, and help each other like they do.
For two decades, I had their love and support but not an ounce of their confidence, which is why I always felt lacking in some way.
“Kim!” Papa takes her hand in his. “Listen to this little brat lying through her teeth and hiding her boyfriend from us.”
“You have a boyfriend, Cecy?” she asks me with a soft smile.
“No, I don’t,” I reply more jerkily, awkwardly than I did with Papa.
Mum’s smile falters for a bit and she watches me intently. Sometimes, I swear she knows each of my dirty secrets and sees straight through me.
I don’t know if it’s because of what she told me back in the last year of secondary school or because she’s a lot harder to fool than Papa, but ever since then, I get this lump in my throat whenever I talk to her.
It’s not that I want to be this type of mess in front of my mother, it’s that I can’t control it.
Papa is easier, but then again, Papa didn’t see straight through me back then.
He wasn’t the one who told me to stop, she was. I still refused to listen.
Her smile returns and she playfully bumps her shoulder against Papa. Maybe it’s due to the fact that they were childhood friends and have known each other all their lives, but every time I talk to them, I’m in awe of their subtle teasing and the way they look at each other.
“She said she doesn’t.”
“She’s lying. Did you see the way she rubbed her nose just now?”
“I felt like I was going to sneeze,” I lie through my teeth, but really, I don’t do that when I’m lying, only when I’m embarrassed.
“Yeah, right. I raised you, honeybee.”
“Papa!”
“Stop teasing her, Xan,” Mum chastises. “And if she does have a boyfriend, she’ll tell us, right, Cecy?”
“You might have to wait a long time. I have no plans for that.”
“See, Kim? She’s hiding him.”
“Am not.”
“Are, too.”
“Maybe this is exactly why she doesn’t want to tell us.” Mum pinches his shoulder. “You’re too much.”
“Oh, come on. I can’t believe you’re taking the little traitor’s side, Green.”
My heart swells whenever Papa calls her that. Green. It’s a homage to how she likes everything green, from the color to pistachio ice cream to green M&M’s. It’s become a part of her personality.
“I can’t let you bully my daughter.” She snatches the phone and smiles at me. “You doing okay, Cecy?”
I lift my index finger to the side of my nose, then force it to drop back down. “Yeah, Mum. Everything’s great.”
She watches me with those imploring eyes again, and I’m surprised I don’t flounder and burn under their weight.
I’m surprised my chest doesn’t rip open and confess everything to her right this instant.
When she speaks, her voice comes out gentle. “Cecy, honey, it’s okay if everything’s not great and if some days are worse than others. You know that, right? Your papa and I are here to listen.”
I choke on the unsaid words that burn in my throat, but I nod. “I know.”
Papa snatches the phone, and that knot gradually disappears as we talk until they eventually hang up.
Leaving me alone with my thoughts.
My cancerous, damning thoughts.
I hate how much they consume me lately, how being inside my own head is torturous and how I find myself there more often than not.
Still, I force myself to get up in the morning, wash my face, eat, and go to school.
I force myself to study, to go out with the guys, and take comfort in the idea that I’m alive.
If I don’t, I’ll be caught in a loop of my own making that no one will be able to save me from.
I’ve been trying so hard to come to terms with my actions, my choices, and how low I’ve fallen—and keep failing miserably.
Maybe it’s a pride thing.
Or a morals thing.
Though I’m not hurting anyone. No one but myself, at least.
I get up from my desk and close my book. I’ve been using the small office in the shelter I volunteer at as my hiding space.
That and the library, where I can read in peace and no one can bother me.
I spend about half an hour feeding the animals, and then I call it a day.
Mostly because everyone went home and Dr. Stephanie, the doctor in charge of the shelter, basically kicks me out.
We walk out of the building together and she stops by her car and retrieves her keys. “Do you want me to give you a ride?”