The smell of garlic and onion, filled the house. My mother was singing softly in the kitchen. It was my favorite smell as it signified peace. I was in my pajamas. My maths homework spread across the floor. The rhythm of her voice and sizzle from the pan brought about a kind of relaxation and peace I wish could last forever. I wished time could freeze and this moment would last forever.
We both heard the sound we both hated the most. That's the" bubble- bubble- Rumble" of my dad's suberu Impreza WRX. My mom stopped singing and immediately went into the sitting room . First she gave the siting room a quick but thorough scan. After ensuring the room was tidy. Then she waited at the door like a statue or some royal guard waiting to open the door for its highness.
He knocked his shoe soles together before getting into the house. This was his usual ritual which I haven't really understood yet. The front door opened.
" John you are home". She took his bag and jacket. I listened to her quick steps retreating to their room to put them away . I was contemplising going to greet my dad or just staying put.
A moments of Silence. Then a voice, my father's voice, No, It wasn't. it was a monster impersonating him or probably he was a monster and I have been lying to myself.
" Diane!"
The scream echoed through the house. I knew that tone. It was the one that brought the familiar dread. Fear didn't crawl. No it didn't. It slammed into me. A sharp angry clatter. A kicked chair, a thrown key followed. His footsteps rhythm changed. It was no longer that tired shuffle from a long day. They were loud, deliberate, intentional, heavy thuds that punched through the floor.
At this point I felt both happiness and sadness. Happiness because I stayed put didn't come downstairs and sadness because I knew what would happen to her my mother.
His voice was a low grinding rumble. The type he uses at the start of their terrifying games. I couldn't make out the words only the tone like a graul being crushed under a boot. A desperates sooting voice followed "John, please, not now. Look dinner is almost ready." That was my mother pleading. It broke my heart.
His voice rose, shredding the air." NOT NOW.?What does that mean? You delay my dinner? Are you daft? You lazy barren b****."
"Barren? Why does he always call me mother a barren b****. Am I not their child?"
A cabinets slammed. I jumped my pencil skittering across the floor
I didn't think. I didn't have the time to. My body moved on its own. I scrambled into the bed, pulled the comforter over my head. I folded myself under the blanket like a page in a book. This was my Fortress. My cave. If I couldn't see them, they couldn't see me at least so I thought.
Under the blanket the world was dark and hot.My own breath was loud in my ears. I smelled cotton and my own fear. My heart beat felt like someone knocking and pleading to be left out.
Then came a sound, a sharp crack. It wasn't like in the movies. It was wetter. Softer.
The shouting was what I always dreaded. A deep vibration that comes up through the floorboards. I held my blanket tighter. It felt like I was securing my cave better.
PLEASE LET IT STOP. PLEASE LET IT STOP
I prayed to a god I wasn't sure was listening. Allah was ignoring my prayers I guess.
" John, please" my mother pleaded with her shaky voice with tears " our child is in the next room. Keep your voice down. I beg you."
" You don't tell me what to do in my own house woman. Nobody in this life can save you from me. Since I've refused me a simple wish I ask you. You will suffer till you die." He roared.
Then came the sound I will forever remember.
It wasn't a slap. It was a dull wet thud. A fist. Then another. It was the sound of a melon being dropped on the floor over and over again. My mother made a gurgling sound, afterwards was a terrifing silence.
I squeezed my eyes shut, shaking so hard that the bed frame tapped a frantic rhythm against the wall. I was freezing and sweating at the same time.
And then the worst sound of all, my mother's voice but not the one I knew. It was a raw animal sound of pain. It was a sound of a soul being torn into two.
Under my blanket, in the hot, dark prison of fear. This wasn't an adult game like my dad would call it. Nor a normally beating. It was the sound of torture. I didn't know what exactly was happening, but the hurt in her voice was a sharp knife and the cut it left in my heart was deep.
The sound finally stopped. My prayer had finally been answered. But, did I still want the prayers? I didn't know which was worse the terrifying sound of my mother being hurt, or her silence not knowing if she's fine or not alive or not. I didn't know what to expect. The silence was too loud, a thick suffocating presence that pressed down on me I heard his heavy footsteps leave the room. A door closed down the hall and there was retreating footsteps down the stairs. I checked the time on my night stand, 11:45 pm. This entire mental torture about three hours twenty one minutes.
From their room there was no sounds. No crying. No sobbing. Nothing. The silence was an even greater torture. It was the sound of my mother's absence.
I wasn't just afraid of him anymore. I was afraid of losing her, the one person who felt the same fear I did. I feared that mother who I loved the most was gone. Our relationship was quite but love was loud. I hoped that the only who truly understand my pain without asking me the cause had been murdered in the room next to mine.
I had to know if she was alive. If she needed me help her run any errands.
I slipped out of the bed, my legs trembling and tiptoed towards the door. As my hand were about to touch the handle I heard footsteps coming upstairs. It was my dad's. I threw myself back on the bed, yanking the comforter over my head. I shut my eyes tight. My body was rigid. I didn't know what to do. I didn't know what to expect. The footsteps stopped at my doorstep. I heard the handle of the door twist.