Chapter One - Numb
"Aliza, if you're going to sleep in class, then don't bother coming!" The voice jolts me out of my nightmare. I soon realize I'm in my Economics class and Mrs. Shone is staring at me with an angry glare. I have drool on my desk. I wipe at my mouth with the back of my left hand, and wipe the desk with my right. "I'm so sorry, Mrs. Shone. I'm trying really hard." My eyes burn and the tears slip out, unwillingly.
I notice her expression softens. I try to gather myself and clear my throat. I look away from her, as her gaze starts to bother me. I stare down at the textbook on my desk and try to think of anything other than the horror that awaits me at home and in my dreams.
Sometimes sleep is a reprieve. Sometimes it helps me escape reality, but not always, because sometimes reality follows me there and now nowhere is safe. Not when I'm awake, not when I'm asleep. Not when I'm at home, or when I'm at school.
I try to focus on work. Now that I'm finally old enough to work, it's my only safe haven. It's a run-down seafood shack off of US-1 but I love it. The people there seem to really care about me.
The bell rings and I'm forced out of my head for a moment. I look around and the other students rush out of the door, like they were all ready and waiting to go 5 minutes ago. They probably were, while I'm over here in La-La-Land like some ditz. It's no wonder I can't make any friends.
Mrs. Shone stares at me intently from behind her horn-rimmed glasses. "Aliza," she calls. "Please come speak to me before you leave."
I gather my things and warily approach her desk. "Again, I'm really sorry-" I begin.
She raises a hand to stop me. "Stop apologizing, dear. Is everything okay at home?" she asks me, her eyes tender and caring.
Just for a moment, I envision myself telling her everything. My father fucks me at night, is that what you want to hear? That my mom drinks all day and pretends not to notice? That I just want to die all day, every day?
I realize I've been silent for a while and she is still patiently waiting for me to open up to her. She is going to be disappointed today. "Yes," I say and feign a smile. "Of course. Why would you even ask?"
Mrs. Shone purses her lips. "Okay, Ms. Klemmon, just let me know if you ever need to talk."
I turn on my heel quickly so she doesn't see the tears that roll down my cheeks in silence.
I run to the restroom once I'm out of her sight. I hear the second bell ring, signaling that I am now late to my next class; Algebra II. Great, I think. I look at myself in the mirror.
This is always the hardest part. Seeing those hazel eyes, the cleft chin, and the freckles. Seeing the face of my mother and father staring back at me in the mirror. Seeing those that I resent the most every time I look at myself. It's very hard.
I'm working at the cash register when my boss, Anna, comes over to me. "Here," she thrusts the cordless landline at me. "It for you," she says with her heavy accent.
I warily place the phone to my ear and say hello. "Aliza," my mother says on the other line, sickeningly sweet. "We have visitors. We need you to come home, okay?" The way she drags her words is bothering me.
"Why are you talking like that?" I ask.
"Just come home, dear, soon," is all she says and the line goes dead.
My heart skips a beat. Something is wrong. I can feel it. Something bad is going to happen. It feels like I am having an out-of-body experience as I walk over to Anna and hand her the phone. "I have to go," I say blankly. "There's something going on at home."
Anna doesn't give me any grief. "Okay, sweetie, you be safe."
The walk home is more of the same. It's like I'm watching myself from the other side of the street, approaching my doom.
There's a white Chevrolet Impala in our driveway. It stands out from two blocks down the street, next to beat up trucks and raised-up hoopties. My neighborhood isn't the nicest. The sinking feeling in my chest worsens.
I walk up the small porch and open the screen door. I see a woman in a nice suit sitting on our pleather sofa, with a clipboard in her hand. Next to her, a man, dressed almost exactly the same, but all he carried was a notepad.
My mother comes rushing over to me. "Hi, honey! Welcome home! These are our guests, they're from Social Services." She touches my back and guides me over to them. The way she is acting is so strange and fake that I just want to scream "Quit acting like a mom because people are here!" But I know if I do that, I'll regret it later. My father isn't in the room, but his truck was in the driveway.
"What are they doing here?" I ask.
My mother stays silent, so I scan the faces of the others in the room. The woman smiles as our eyes lock. "Hi, Aliza. My name is Tiffany and this is my partner, Mike. We came here today to make sure that everything is okay in your home."
I cross my arms across my chest defensively. "Of course it is, why wouldn't it be?" I feel like an animal, protecting it's home suddenly. I'm on defense.
"Well, we received a tip from a concerned citizen, that's all." She smiles and it seems so sincere but I am so on edge that I am shaking and everyone feels like the enemy right now. I'm a snake, backed into a pit, ready to strike.
"As you can see, it's unnecessary. We're fine."
"Where is Mr. Klemmon?" Tiffany asks, this time directed at my mother. It seems she is already fed up with my attitude.
My mother hesitates. "Oh... he's in the garage. He has his hobbies, you know men." She smiles and it seems so fake in comparison that I want to vomit.
"We'd like to speak to him," this time, it's Mike, Tiffany's partner who speaks.
"Oh... Um... Okay." My mother hesitantly walks through the kitchen and out the back door.
For a minute, everything is silent and it is very awkward. I try to avoid eye contact with the social workers; I try to think of them as aliens. Unwelcome creatures here to harm me.
"Aliza, if you want to speak in private, I can come to your school tomorrow," Tiffany whispers to me.
I glance towards the kitchen and strain to listen for footsteps or a voice. I feel anxious, so on edge, ready to pop like a balloon. I don't answer her.
"Well, if you want me to, just call me. Here's my card." She quickly hands over a card and I hear my father's voice getting closer now. As fast as I can, I shove it into my underwear. I don't know where else to put it, and I'm embarrassed for having done this, but I can't let my father see the card.
He comes into the room now, wiping his hands on his wrangler jeans. He has a scraggly beard and a few missing teeth. He broke his nose a few times and now it's all crooked. I hate his face. I look away from him.
He greets our guests the same as my mother, with fake hospitality and false personalities.
"So we are here today, as you know, to check on your daughter Aliza here. We just want to be sure that she is adequately being cared for," Mike explains to my father.
My father wants to know who is spreading false rumors about them mistreating me.
"Oh, sir, no one has made any such claim!" Tiffany quickly reassures my father. "They only expressed concern for Aliza's wellbeing, not that she was being mistreated. We are trying to just understand what her life is like."
"Her life is just fine," my father spits into a can. "We feed her, keep a roof over her head, and clothe her. She's fine." With that, he stands and opens the screen door, signaling that it is time for them to leave, and they comply.
Tiffany smiles at me warmly as she leaves. "Take care, and call me if you need to talk," she says, reminding me of the card in my crotch. Suddenly, it's uncomfortable.
When they're gone, I try to escape to my room right away and read a book or anything to show that I am innocent and not to blame for this. How should an innocent person act? They don't let me get away. My father grabs me by my hair and I'm jerked backwards. He lets me fall to the ground with a thump.
"You aren't going anywhere, missy. Wanna tell us what that was all about?" My father stares me in the eyes and nothing has ever made me feel so at risk and uneasy.
"I don't know," I say, and they stare at me with all of the disbelief in the world. "I swear," I say, and my eyes fill with tears.
My mother slaps me, hard. It stings and for a moment, all I see is static, like when you're watching TV and suddenly the cable goes out. "I know you're lying. You better not be out there telling people what happens in this house!"
I'm holding my cheek and looking at the ground when she says this and it angers me so much to hear her confirm what I already suspected. I look her in the eyes. Yes, she knew all along. She doesn't even care. Her eyes say it all; so cold, so empty.
I go numb. My arms drop to my sides. I feel like there isn't even a milligram of energy in my body. I am deflated. I look down at my hand, and I see red liquid. Blood from my lip. It must be busted.
"I haven't told anyone anything," I say, feeling dead inside. "I fell asleep in class today. My teacher was acting really worried about me. I can't think of anything else." I don't dare to look at them again, can't bear the thought of what their eyes hold and what mine may reveal.
This night is worse than all of the rest. My room is a dungeon, and my father is a torturer. He enters me forcefully and unapologetically, without remorse. He smiles and forces me to look him in the face. He licks me all over. I feel disgusting. I shower 5 times and fall asleep in the tub.
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