Ch. 13 - PAST MEMORIES

JENSYN (Seven years old)

Mum sat on the big sofa chair—the one that made a whump sound when you sat on it. A book rested on her lap as she smiled. She looked peaceful. It had been long since she smiled. Maybe it was because of the baby. Maybe it was because of me; I didn't know, and I didn't ask.

She touched her belly. That gesture reminded me that my baby sister was there. Mum called her ‘my princess’. She called me Princess too. She said I was the first princess and my unborn sister was the second.

“Mum, can I feel the baby?” I asked softly. Mum looked up with eyes the same colour as mine. She smiled.

“Not until I see that famous essay.”

I giggled and got up from the rug. 

My essay. I forgot about that. I had written an essay about the weather, and I got the highest score. It wasn't the first time, though. I always got the highest score in my class. But today, I was excited to show Mum… and Dad. He would come home soon.

“Wait a little till Daddy comes back.”

Not long afterwards, the door creaked open. He was here.

Mum stood slowly, rubbing her belly. “Welcome home.” She said, soft and gentle.

“Get me food,” Dad muttered, dropping his coat carelessly on the floor.

“I’ll be right back,” Mum said, already heading to the kitchen.

I tiptoed to him, my paper pressed against my chest. “Daddy, look, I got the highest score in class again!” I held out the essay, my hands shaking just a little.

He took it, and my heart jumped with happiness when he opened it. 

But then—rip. I blinked at him. What he did took a while to register until I heard the sound again.

Rip. Rip. Rip.

He tore the essay like it was trash, then he let the pieces fall to the floor like broken leaves on an old tree. “Writing essays doesn’t make you special,” he said, his eyes hard and flat. “You think you gon go round the world writing silly things? You’ll never be anything by doing that, Jensyn. You’re just a girl. Girls don’t get dreams—they belong in the kitchen like their mothers.”

My throat hurts. My eyes stung, and my hands shook. 

“Like your mother.” He added. “Get out!” he snapped, already walking toward the bedroom door. Mum stood frozen when she came out, plate in hand. Her eyes trailed the torn paper, and I saw her face crumble.

I stood immediately. I didn't give her time to even try to console me. This wasn't the first time Dad didn't congratulate me for working hard. This wasn't the first time he overlooked my performance. 

And maybe he was right. I shouldn't be doing too much as a girl.

JENSYN (Ten years old)

My knuckles still hurt from the punch. This was the first time I tasted blood. It tasted like a rusty coin, and I liked it. Amanda cried when her nose started bleeding, her hands flapping like a chicken’s wings. Everyone gasped like I had killed her. But she was the one who said it. She called me a mistake. She said my mother was trash, and my father only came home to yell. She said I was just like him.

So I hit her. Hard. And I didn't regret it. 

Not even when the principal made me sit on the hard chair in the office. Not even when I saw blood trickling from Amanda's nose. But when the door opened, my stomach dropped.

Dad walked in, his face hard. His eyes glanced my way, then he looked away. Principal Sarah cleared his throat. “Mr Sawyer, your daughter assaulted another student. Her behaviour was unacceptable.”

“She deserved it,” I mumbled.

“Silence!” Dad barked, and I shrank into the chair.

After a little back and forth, I was suspended for three weeks with a promise that Amanda's hospital bills would be paid. The ride home was quiet. My fingers were twisted in my lap. Dad didn't say a word, not until we were inside. 

“Face the wall.”

I obeyed. My nose touched the cold paint. I stood and stood, my legs starting to ache. I couldn't cry. I didn't want to upset Dad.

Soon, I heard footsteps.

“Turn around.”

I turned. Dad grabbed my arm and made me kneel before him. My knees slammed the ground, pain shooting up my legs. I tried not to scream, “Do you know what you’ve done?” he yelled.

“She called me…”

“I don’t care what she called you! You are a monster! A wild animal!” He struck my cheek with the back of his hand. I gasped, falling sideways.

He didn't let me go, not until he had instilled some words into me. “You are unloveable, Jensyn! You hear me? No one will ever love a girl like you, not even if you came out as a boy! You think some peeps out there is gonna want a human being who acts like a rabid dog?” 

I sobbed, lowering my head. “I am sorry.”

“Sorry ain't gonna fix nothing!” He yelled, hitting the floor beside me so hard that I jumped. “Crying ain't make the world care about you! You and your mama will pay those bills. I ain't paying shit.”

I shook my head, tears pouring down my face. I wanted to tell him it wasn't my fault. I wasn't a rabid dog. I was loveable. I wasn't a bad human being, but he left the room already. I crawled to the corner, my knees sore and red. I wrapped my arms around myself, and I cried.

Maybe he was right. Maybe I really was unloveable. Because love didn’t feel like this.

***

PRESENT DAY

Sweat engulfed me when I woke up with a start. My lungs burnt for air, my chest tight as if I had surfaced from deep underwater. For a moment, I didn't know where I was. The shadows twisted like figures from the dream I escaped. I reached out, but there was nothing—no familiar touch of my mum, no warmth. 

Cold pricked my skin, seeping into my bones. The image didn't want to go. The image of the door slamming. My mother’s face. Blood. The sound of sirens that never came soon enough.

I was trembling uncontrollably. My hands shook; my legs barely obeyed me when I forced myself up. The darkness was too heavy. I needed to get out. I needed light. Anything to remind me that this was a dream.

I stumbled through the hallway, guided only by the walls. Before I reached the kitchen, I saw a faint, golden hue spilling under the doorframe. A heartbeat of relief crashed through me as I pushed open the door and dashed in, my feet skidding on the tiles. The refrigerator hummed like a tribute.

“Need light… light.” I didn't realise I spoke. I opened the refrigerator, not knowing what I wanted. My fingers crossed around a cold bottle of water. I twisted the cap and drank in greedy gulps that left water trickling down my chin and my throat with cold.

That’s when I saw him.

Linden.

He was leaning against the counter, his eyes searching mine for answers. I froze, bottle still in my hand. I couldn't stop shaking. My fingers clenched tighter just to keep me from dropping the bottle. Linden stepped forward, slowly, like a frightened deer. I didn't flinch, but my breath was hitched when his hand reached for me.

His palm brushed my cheeks gently. That was when I realised I was crying.

Not the quiet kind of cry. It wasn't the kind that you would wipe away before anyone notices. I ugly cried. The tears were hot, rolling down my face in succession. 

Linden's brow furrowed. I saw him through the blur in my eyes. “Jensyn… what's wrong?”

I was relieved he didn't ask, ‘Why are you crying?’. That would have made me spill things to him without care, but I kept quiet, and I whispered, voice cracking, “Just hold me. Don’t leave me.”

He didn't ask anything more. He pulled me into his arms, his embrace wrapping around me like the shelter I needed. And that was when I truly broke down.

The sob tore from my throat, and I didn't care to keep my voice down. My hands clutched at his shirt, my face buried in his chest, the tears soaking the fabric. I didn't care how I looked. I cried—ugly, trembling, aching cries.

“It's okay, it's okay.” Linden whispered as I continued to do what I would regret when I woke up the next day.