Part Three

There was a time when my house was also my home. Its ornate exterior, dark hardwood, wide balconies, and moody curtains were once charming to me. It was our family’s jewel for generations, and I had been proud to call it mine.

Now, my house was a wide, ominous silhouette framed by the purples and reds of the setting sun, as if the sky had been bruised and beaten. The front stoop was dark, foreboding.

I clutched the strap of my shoulderbag until my knuckles turned white.

It was past dinnertime. Mother would be reading in the atelier, Aunty Brea would be knitting, and Cousin Malcolm would be holed up in his room. Father…

Father would be waiting for me. I knew it. There was no avoiding it, so what was the purpose in delaying it any longer?

I stepped towards the front door, placing a shaky hand on the knob. It was unlocked, as expected.

The foyer of our house was a grand hallway lined with drawing rooms and small sitting areas, leading to a grand staircase that parted left and right. Dim lamplight lit the way.

I scanned the area quickly, and seeing no one waiting nearby, I almost believed that I could escape my fate.

“Risa.” That gravelly voice found me. It rumbled from an armchair in the corner like a barely-perceptible earthquake, and it rattled my bones.

“I greet you, Father,” I said in the ancient tongue. I turned to him and bowed, trying to calm my hammering heart and school my expression. I could not show fear. Fear was unforgivable.

“What kept you?” The words wash over me with a chill.

An excuse, I needed an excuse. I had thought of many on the way here, but my father was a shrewd man and I had dismissed most of them as conspicuous.

I swallowed before responding, trying to keep my voice even. “I stayed late at the school library today, and I lost track of time. Forgive me, Father. I’ll be more careful in the future.” Good. I delivered that smoothly enough.

“Don’t start. Your aunt saw you today on her way to the station.”

My stomach dropped.

“She said you were walking with a boy.” Father spat the word as if it were an epithet.

I had already been caught in a lie, which was a grave enough sin. Insisting on it or amending it was futile. I fell to my knees, which hit the hardwood floor with a resounding thud. Keeping my eyes on Father’s polished, formal shoes, I begged. “Forgive me, Father, please. I—I was lonely.” My voice broke. Curse it. “I was lonely, and I let that emotion get the best of me.”

“Your honesty comes too late, daughter. I need not tell you what happens when we share our way of life with outsiders. It is why we share nothing at all.” Father stood from the armchair, towering over me. I imagined his severe features twisted with anger, but I was too paralyzed to even consider looking at his face to check. “This is so unlike you. You are my good daughter, Risa. I would expect this from Kairi, but not you.”

Kairi. A lump formed in my throat.

“I must not waver. If I forgive you now, you will continue to believe that this behavior is permissible. It will not be so.”

There was a familiar click of metal. A familiar swoosh of leather. My shoulders began to tremble uncontrollably.

Then, for a moment, I could hear nothing but the ticking of the grandfather clock on my right. When I looked there in my peripheral vision, I saw Mother. She was holding her arms, and though her body was facing me, her head was turned away, as always.

She said nothing, and Father began.

~~~

I made my way up the staircase, trying to ignore the way my legs burned with every step. Wincing, I limped across the carpeted hallway to my room.

“Risa.”

Cousin Malcolm was leaning on the doorframe to his bedroom, which was next to mine, looking at me with a mix of pity and understanding.

I gritted my teeth, failing miserably to hide my pain. “I’m okay, really.” Malcolm was just fourteen years old. He didn’t need to see this.

“Don’t do that,” he shook his head. “Don’t do this alone.” He left his bedroom door open as he turned away and approached his dresser. I watched him pull open a drawer and retrieve a small silver tin, a roll of gauze and medical tape, and a pair of scissors.

He glanced at me from over his shoulder, the dark fringe of his hair brushing over his forehead as he did. “Would you just come in already?”

I sighed defeatedly, making my way towards a nearby bench and dropping into it unceremoniously. Bringing my legs to my chest, I hiked up my ankle-length skirt to my knees. Fresh red wounds now overlapped older scars. Malcolm wordlessly passed me the tin, took a seat next to me, and started cutting squares of gauze and pieces of tape. He didn’t look my way.

As I twisted open the tin’s lid and applied the balm to the wounds on the back of my calves, I felt my eyes sting. A sniffle escaped me.

“Does it hurt? —Sorry, that was a dumb question.” He cleared his throat. “Just…don’t cry, Risa. It’ll heal soon.”

I wasn’t crying because it hurt. I was used to the pain. My throat closed up as I mumbled, “Thank you, Malcolm.”

He was seeing this. All this. Ever since he was a child, like I had. He had lived under my father’s oppressive eye, like I had. No one in this world knew me the way Malcolm did.

There was a stab of something sharp in my chest. Something new, something unidentified, burning inside me. It wasn’t my wounds, nor my tears. As I put on the last piece of tape, I felt a fire blaze in my soul.

I would not let Malcolm suffer through the rest of his youth like I had.

“Malcolm, is it wrong to want a friend?”

His gaze was steady, his eyes gentle. “No, Risa, it’s not.”

“Is it wrong to want better for the people you love?” My voice was stronger now.

“R-Risa…” Malcolm’s eyes had changed from comforting to alarmed. “You know what happened to Kairi. I can’t—I can’t lose you too, I won’t!” He yelled as he jumped up from the bench.

“I have to do something, Malcolm. We can’t keep living like this. This isn’t even living,” I cried. “You deserve better than this. I…” I held a hand to my forehead and took a shaky breath. “I need to make a plan for us. And this time, it’ll work. I'll make sure of it.” I just needed to do what I hadn’t been able to for as long as I could remember.

I needed to have hope.