my dad actually texted me that

Chapter Three

When I was seven years old, I was sitting at my grandmother's house, listening to her and my mother talk. I often liked to play at the table with my dolls whilst they talked, because I liked to listen to the things they'd say.

This particular time, my grandmother was talking all excited, claiming that she had a dream that my youngest brother, Samuel, was going to be an important man of God. She said that in her dream, my brother was praying, and his body lit up with this great light, and it brought her to tears. She swore that my little brother, who at the time was only three, was going to be a pastor or some missionary one day. A faithful servant of God. I remember the very moment she looked my mother in the eye and said "God has great plans for him."

I remember hearing her say that, and being jealous. I wanted God to have a plan for me. I wanted Him to know how much I loved Him and how badly I wanted to do good for Him. I didn't say anything though, and I continued to play with my dolls.

When I was eight, mother was at work, and our father always took those moments when she was away to sit me and my brothers down, and force us to listen to him preach his absurd version of the gospel. At one point he said something that flipped a switch in my mind forever. He said that there are people living on Earth that God has no idea exists. That any one of us could be someone God doesn't know is even breathing. This is when things really went downhill for me, because I grew scared that I might be one of those people. I was terrified that God didn't know I existed and that I might never go to heaven.

Eight years old, and I was beginning to hatch plans on how to garner the attention of God.

When I was nine, my mother and I were walking around our neighborhood. Something we always did when I was a kid because walking was something that comforted me, and made me happy.

During these walks, my mother would often talk to me. It was the only time of the day her and I really got to talk about anything we wanted to. Despite being homeschooled, my mother and I couldn't talk with one another freely at home. Not when my father was there, he would always mock us for anything that we said or he'd just shut us up. Often times my father would get right up in my face when I was talking to my mother, or my brothers, and he'd demand for me to shut the fuck up. I think that is why I am so scared so speak to people now. I would rather be punched repeatedly than to be told to shut up. The feelings are different and I can't explain how. Physical pain is nothing compared to mental torment, and hating yourself for talking when nobody cares enough to listen.

This walk, however, my mother was talking about names and how powerful their meanings are. My oldest brother's name is Malachi, and she emphasized the meaning of it. The name Malachi means 'messenger of God'. She proceeded to tell me that he was going to do great things for God one day, because God had big plans for him.

At that moment, I hated my brothers. I hated that God favored them over me. That God was careful to weave these extraordinary lives for them and completely ignore me.

And then I was reminded of my internal fear that God didn't know I existed, and everything made sense.

He had plans for my brothers, because he knew them. He didn't know me.

I had been forgotten.

I'm often reminded of these childhood fears that would keep me awake at night. Now, a grown adult I only think back to them and wonder if I would have been better off being physically beaten, than mentally stomped on.

My routine once against starts at 3:00 a.m. I get up, I eat six-hundred calories of bland nothingness, and sit on my couch until it's time to get ready for work.

I get ready, I walked the eight miles to the salon, I sit at my station and prepare for my clients whilst listening to my coworkers enjoy each other's company. At 6:00, I walk home.

That is what I've been doing for over a year, that is what I will continue to do.

Though the benefit of living with Maddie is that her place is only three miles from the salon. I will have to rearrange my schedule in the morning to accommodate that.

While walking home, my phone vibrates, indicating I got a text message. I open, scared it might be from my boss, or worse, my family, and I was right.

My dad texts me one singular text that reads, "Your mother blocked me. Wow."

My mother finally divorced my dad this year. She got her own place, because she couldn't handle him anymore. He often sends her several text messages a day explaining to her in great detail how she ruined his life, and she just takes it.

I don't dwell on that fact that she left my father only when it was convenient for her to do so. Her kids have all moved out, so now she is free to do whatever she wants. A small, selfish bit of me is angry at her for traumatizing us, and only getting out of the abuse when we were long gone.

I remember being a kid and wishing she would leave him. I'd beg her to divorce him, and let me and my brothers live with our grandparents who would have gladly took us in.

She'd always tell me divorce was a sin, and the only way she'd leave him is if he physically hurt us in any way.

To her, physical abuse is the only valid abuse.

I used to beg God for my dad to punch me. I'd pray at night, going into detail why I wanted my own father to assault me. If he just hit me once it would all be over, and none of us would have to deal with his abuse anymore.

He never did, but that never stopped him from sexualizing us, and my mother turning a blind eye.

Annoyed, I block my father's number. I'll unblock him later. There isn't any valid reason I still have his number, in fact, I don't know why I do. I don't like him, he's the reason I am the way I am today, he's the reason I'm such a freak.

As soon as I get home, my phone rings, and my heart sinks because despite blocking my father, I'm afraid it's somehow him.

But it's not him, instead Maddie's name pops up. I frown at it, and quickly answer, "Hello?"

"Hey, I got the spare key. I know it's not technically the first of the month yet, but there's no point in me keeping it."

I glance around my apartment. Nearly everything is boxed up and ready to go. The first of the month is in two days, and I've been dreading it. Not necessarily because I hate moving, which I do, but because it will require me to drive, and I haven't done that in almost a year.

"I'm off work tonight so you can come get it now if you'd like."

Maddie doesn't know that I'd rather walk fifty miles than drive. Being that I've already walked the full sixteen miles today to and from work, I don't think I could walk to her apartment and not pass out.

Eating only six hundred calories and walking as much as I have been doing is catching up to me and I might need to up my intake for the next few days for this move.

I hate saying no. Every muscle in my body is begging to go to bed. I can't walk all the way to her apartment tonight I can't, and yet I glance at the clock on my phone that read 7:42, and the words that fall from my mouth are, "The soonest I could get there is around 10:00, would that be too late?"

"Yeah, that's fine, I'm always up all night anyway."

"Alright, I'll see you then." We hang up, and I hit myself over and over on the head.

"I'm so fucking stupid." I say out loud, as I grab my jacket that was not at all warm enough to accommodate the cold night air, and feel my legs ache with each step. It's only five miles, this is fine. I'll be fine.

I leave my apartment, wondering if I should have consumed any sort of food to keep me going.

The world was dark now, and the wind was picking up which was beating against my body as I trudged back down the streets to Maddie's place.

I don't know why I have to get the key tonight. I could have simply told her I'd come get it tomorrow, but I couldn't do it. Why not? Why is it so hard for me to say no to people? Why am I so scared to disappoint someone when they hardly even know me?

But then, I think, she took the effort to call me, to tell me she had the key. She's off work tonight. It makes sense that I come by tonight to get the key.

No, it really doesn't make sense.

Is it pride? That I don't want her to think I'm too lazy to drive twenty minutes to her house? Except I'm not driving, but she doesn't know that.

My heart is racing, and I'm starting to sweat despite it only being thirty degrees and windy. My body feels like it's going into shock, and I'm running purely on adrenaline. Hopefully I can make it back home.

As her apartment comes into view, I'm breathless, and I keep checking the clock on my phone to make sure it's not 10:00. I take a few minutes to catch my breath, and to calm my heartbeat. I lean against the apartment building for a moment, and all I want to do is sleep. My eyelids feel heavy, and my head is pounding.

That's fine. It's fine.

I knock on the door, and Maddie opens it up with a glass of wine in her hand. "Hey, you can come on in." I walk in and she grabs the key off the kitchen counter. "Glad you could make it, I was going to tell you that you can go ahead and move in early-" She stops when she actually looks at me. "Are you feeling alright?"

Panic. Alarm bells are loud in head and I have to remember to breathe. "Yeah I feel fine."

"You look pale."

"I am pale."

"No, you look sick pale."

I didn't argue that that is how I always look. "I'm alright."

She stares at me and I don't know what to do so I keep my eyes trained anywhere else but her. "You mentioned I could move in early?"

She's quiet for a moment, and then, finally, "Yeah, you can start tomorrow, if you'd like."

So one whole day earlier. "Would it be more convenient for you if I move in tomorrow as apposed to the first?"

"Convenient?"

"Yeah. I don't want to get in your way."

She continues to stare at me like I'm some freak, and I try to think what it was that I said wrong. Was she asking me to move in tomorrow instead and I'm just too dense in the head to understand? Is there an underlining question she's trying to convey that I can't find?

And then, she sighs, like she's given up. My heart seems to disintegrate with that sigh, and I know that I've fucked up something but this time, I don't even know what it is that I fucked up. I will over analyze this moment later tonight when I am in bed, and in the comfort of my solitude where I can cringe in silence.

"Tomorrow." She says finally, "You can move in tomorrow, or you can do it on the first. Either day is absolutely fine with me. You wouldn't be," she lifts her fingers to use air quotations, "getting in my way."

So she was upset that I said that? I don't understand why. I'll figure it out later.

I nod once, "Okay. That sounds good then." I want to leave. I might pass out. I don't want to walk five miles back home.

She stops me before I could begin my frantic escape, "Gansey?"

I look up at her, and my eyes meet hers. She had a look in her eye I couldn't read and I'm not sure I can ever get used to that. She is great at masking her expressions, which is an issue for me. "Don't ever feel like you're getting in my way. Once you move in this will be our apartment, not just mine."

I imagine her words hitting against my head and falling to the floor. Does she really expect me to believe that? I understand I'm short and I look immature for my age but I'm not a stupid child. I smile at her, and it hurts, "Of course."

We'll see how she feels about me once I'm actually there, and fucking up her routine one too many times.