Chapter 7
I smile as I walk down the drizzly grey street. I'm free as I watch everyone walk past quickly, trying to beat the rain. I'm free as I skip past the best coffee shop in town with a queue of grumpy adults out the door. I'm free as I pat the dog outside the hardware shop. I'm free as- but wait. No I'm not. I'll never be free.
As soon as I feel the black mist creeping in, I find a place to sit. I sit down, and just allow it this time I can't stop it, so why not just let it drown me? There's no point fighting anymore.
No point. No point in living, am I right? Why do we keep playing this cruel game we call life? All it is is being knocked to the ground, over and over again, and getting up, painting on a pretty face. Pretty face. Everyone's pretty. Everyone's beautiful, handsome, attractive... except for me. I'm ugly. Why can't I just be like everyone else? Laughing and smiling and not recognising the cruelness of this planet we call home. And the point of life. Well, there is no point, is there? The whole universe, just existing, and what for? Why does it even exist? Is there anything further out there? Why does everything exist? What's the point?
What's the point...
No. I won't let it take control of me. Not now, not ever.
But I'm weak. I'm useless.
No.
The first sign of madness: talking to yourself. I'm going mad.
No. It's not going to take control of me again. I won't let it.
I need something positive. Anything at all. My brain might be trying its best to ruin me, but I'me not going to let it.
I see the cinema up ahead, and duck inside, partially to shelter me from the incoming rain, but also because movies always make me feel better. I look at the timetable of the next movies, and spot one called She Said. I buy tickets for it, and wait the 20 minutes until the movie starts, playing around on my phone.
10 minutes until the movie starts, I realise that I should probably see what it's about. So I search up She Said, and look at the synopsis. And I know that the black mist isn't coming back for at least a few hours, because I've somehow managed to choose a feminist movie. Just reading it, I feel happy again.
"The New York Times journalists Megan Twohey and Jodi Kantor publish a report that exposes sexual abuse allegations against powerful Hollywood producer Harvey Weinstein. The shocking story also serves as a launching pad for the #MeToo movement, shattering decades of silence around the subject of sexual assault and harassment."
As soon as the cinema is free, I run inside, eager to watch it.
Two and a half hours later, I emerge from the cinema, smiling. She Said made me smile properly for the first time in weeks.
I skip down the street, smiling, looking around at my beautiful town. Mansfield. I look at the trees, the mountains, and beam. I tip my face up to the sky, and open my mouth, letting the raindrops fall down my throat. I am partially aware of everyone passing by staring at me like I am a maniac, but right now, in this moment, I don't care. Happiness feels like- I don't even know. And I have no clue how I lived the last few weeks without feeling this.
And with that, I remember. I remember that I don't deserve this. Dad is right about me. He's always right. I'm always wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. I have to be perfect. Always perfect. And I never am. I never will be. Why don't I just give up? Leave this world, let everyone go on without me. No one will care. I won't even die surrounded by people who love me, unlike abuelo. I'll die alone, and everyone will know that my life was pointless. Pointless, pointless, pointless.
I don't even realise I'm running until I see my house right in front of me, rain dripping off the gutter. I let myself in, knowing full well that dad is probably home. And I am probably in a lot of trouble.
I take a deep breath, push open the front door, and step inside.
And immediately spot dad sitting on the couch.
I gasp. Then I realise that he is asleep. After realising that, I tiptoe around him, and up the stairs to my room. Where I curl up under the covers, put on my earbuds, blast sad music into my ears, and cry myself to sleep for the third time this week.
I am woken by shouting. Dad's shouting to be specific.
'What do you mean, you don't know where she is? For God's sake, María, you're her mother! You should know where she is, all the goddamn time!'
'How dare you, Sam.' Mama says in a deadly voice. 'Not my fault that Sofía is missing. I said you already, I don't know where Sofía is.' Then mama launches into a stream of angry spanish words that I am to far away to understand. I catch a few words like 'stupid', 'there was an email', 'I told you already', 'don't blame me', and 'sexist.'
Then I hear an angry, almost animal roar. 'That godforsaken girl better be somewhere. I've called her a million times, and it's gone straight to voicemail. Why can't she be like Lucía? Why?' I hear footsteps, then a small squeak from my mama.
'And you, María. You can't even be bothered to learn english! You always speak in broken sentences, and I don't even know why I'm wasting my breath on you! You probably can't even understand a word that I'm saying!'
I hear the slam of a door, then the sounds of a car speeding off. And mama's sobs. The sound of them breaks my heart, and the tears resurface. I can't stand it anymore. I run down the stairs, and see mama curled up in a ball, her back pressed against a wall, head in her hands.
'Mama?' I say, cautiously.
'Sofía? Oh cariño, estás bien!'
(Oh sweetie, you're ok!)
'Si, mama. Yo soy bien.'
(Yes, mum, I'm fine)
But I can hardly get the words out before I am crushed by mama's relieved hug.
'Oh, I can not believe you are ok!' Then a small frown crosses her face. 'Ah, if you were up the stairs, you hear all that?'
Shame overwhelms me.
'Si, mama.'
'Mija, I am ok. Your dad is ok. But, Sofía, we were worried sick! Lucía is driving, looking for you! I need call her! Tell her you are home!'
Mama reaches for the old family phone, and I listen to her tell Lucía I am home in Spanish. Once she's ended her call, she looks at me with a sad smile.
'I probably need to call your dad now.' she says.
'No.' I say. 'No, you can't!'
Mama looks at me, confused.
'Mija, it's OK. You're dad love me, you, Lucía, all us. He only gets... very overwhelmed? Is that the word? Sometimes. Sofía, it's ok. He'll be back soon.'
I am shocked. Somehow, dad has brainwashed mama, of all people. My beautiful, kind, amazing mother, has been brainwashed by my father. And I'm angry.
This time, instead of black mist, it's red mist that's taking control of me. Blood red mist, inking it's way into my brain, taking control. It's pure anger. And I release it on the person that deserves it the least. Mama.
'No, it's not ok. He gets to just use us, abuse us, and it's OK? No, it's not, mama! It has never been OK, and it never will be. Why should it be? Dad gets to just prance around, using us, showing us off as perfect little shiny trophies, and no one says anything! No one speaks up! And I'm absolutely sick of it!'
I'm out of breath when I've finished yelling. Mama takes a deep breath, then says
'Us?'
And I notice Lucía standing in the doorway. I should probably be worrying about whether she'll tell dad, but right now, I'm too angry to care.
'Yes, mama, us. While you were in Mexico-' I stop short. She doesn't need to know.
'Oh, mija's, I'm very sorry. I didn't see. I want know if he does this again. You're my estrellas, y te amo. My sweeties.'
And she pulls me and Lucía in for a hug. And I finally feel loved.
Even if it isn't perfect. Even if there's tears on mama's, and my face. Even dad just stormed out. Even if the black mist is always, always, on the edge of my brain.
I know that someday, it will all be OK.
Because I am loved.
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