Dollhouse, Page 3

  “Good morning, Amabel,” my mom forces a smile.

  It’s bothering her again. My dad…

  I throw my arms around her, the smell of alcohol clinging to her shirt.

  “I love you mom,” I say quietly.

  She wraps her arms around me, seeming surprised.

  “I—I love you too Amabel. Are you alright?”

  I pull away and wipe my eyes. “Yeah, mom. I’m fine. Just wanted to let you know that.”

  She smiles sadly and turns to pick up her purse.

  “Well, alright.” She pauses, as if she wants to tell me something. Shaking her head, she says, “I’m headed off to the bakery. I’ll be back around five.”

  I nod.

  “Okay.”

  She hesitates before leaving the kitchen and I watch her walk out the front door. Unlocking her car, she looks back at the house longingly and shakes her head. She slides into the driver’s seat and starts the car. I watch her back out and leave, escaping the horrid life she’s stuck in, pretending like nothing is the matter and everything is perfect when, in truth, it’s the farthest thing from it.

  My mom’s car disappears around the corner and I spring into action, running into her room. She keeps her stash of alcohol locked in a trunk in the deepest part of her closet. I know, because I’ve had to help her put one of her bottles back when she was so drunk she didn’t recognize me.

  I dig through her dresser and grab the metal key she hides under her underwear, and shuffle over to the brown closet door. Throwing the clothes aside, I pull out the heavy trunk. I don’t understand why she keeps them in a trunk…

  I have to jiggle the key a little bit to get into the box, but once it’s open, the smell of alcohol makes me turn away and gasp for fresh air. How does my father not know about this?

  I take a handful of bottles—heavy bottles—and walk them outside to throw them in the garbage can. I make a second and third trip before the trunk is empty.

  “She’s going to see it…” I mutter to myself, peering down at the broken glass and liquid.

  I decide to take the trash out to the road to hide it. She’ll probably get more in the future when she realizes she’s out, but for right now, this is the only option.

  Then I creep up into Tobiah’s room and start to snoop. I find his baggies of weed and add them to the collection of alcohol in our trashcan outside. I keep looking around, just in case I’m missing something.

  And then I see crystals. No, not the type of rock or whatever…

  Meth.

  I stand staring at it for the longest time, trying to get my brain to function. How does he still have a scholarship? When did this start happening…?

  I pick up the baggie and look at it, my heart racing at the dangerous substance I hold. What could drive him to do this to himself…? And how does he keep it secret?

  I hear the front door slam.

  I race to the top of the stairs, shoving the bag in my pocket, just in case.

  Tobiah.

  He starts coming up the stairs, a scowl on his face.

  And a bruise.

  “Tobiah, are you o—”

  “Shut up, Amabel. Leave me alone.”

  “But Tobiah—” I start as he shoves past me. The bruise covers his entire cheekbone and it’s starting to swell.

  “I said, leave me alone!”

  He slams his door shut. The force shakes the walls and a picture frame falls to the floor, breaking. I look down at it, our four smiling faces looking at the camera. It’s from maybe four years ago. Before any of this ruin entered our life.

  I hear things topple over in his room before he bursts out into the hallway, as ball of hot air. His face is red and his veins are sticking out from his neck.

  And suddenly, I feel scared.

  “Where is it, Amabel?” He shouts, and I feel the step beneath my heel as it cuts off. “Where is it?!”

  “Tobiah, I don’t—”

  “Oh, don’t play stupid with me! Where is it?”

  The crystals feel like they’re burning a hole in my back pocket as I realize what he’s looking for.

  “Tobiah, I don’t—”

  “Where is it, Amabel?!” He screams, taking my shoulders and shaking me.

  “Tobiah—ow! You’re—”

  “Tell me!”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about!” I scream, tears streaming down my face. How? How did he get like this? I don’t understand—

  “Fine,” He hisses through gritted teeth and lets me go.

  I feel myself lean back.

  “Tobiah!” I scream.

  I can feel each step as it bites into my body. It’s only a three second fall, but it feels like forever.

  I lay at the base of the stairs, still and staring up at the ceiling, pain taking me over. I can feel the tears falling down my face as I try to move my head. Tobiah is standing over me now. His face is twisted with worry. The bruises and bumps and cuts and scrapes sting and throb and hurt.

  I can barely hear Tobiah over the ringing in my ears, and I don’t want to hear him. I want him to go away. I want him to stop what he’s doing. Then he can come back. Then he can help me.

  His hands help me sit up and I cry out in pain as my body screams at me. I sob and cry, letting it all out. I can’t take it anymore. I can’t take these secrets, these betrayals, and these stupid decisions…

  God, help us… I pray. Help them. ‘For they know not what they do’… Help me… ‘I do not have the strength of stone; my flesh is not bronze’… We need You…

  6. Love

  I touch the back of my head gingerly, wincing from the pain of the bruise. My arms have a few dark spots forming and my shins have a bunch of cuts and bruises on them already.

  I hear Tobiah knock on the bathroom door. He’d carried me up the stairs to our bathroom so we wouldn’t dirty the guest bathroom.

  “Am... Amabel? Are—are you okay?”

  I look down at the sink, my body aching and tears still in my eyes. I wipe them away and take a breath as I open the door.

  “I’m fine,” I smile as the lie slips out from behind my teeth.

  “Look, I’m… I didn’t mean—”

  “It’s fine,” I tell him as I waddle to the stairs. “I’m fine,” I say more to myself.

  “But Amabel, you fell d—”

  “I said I’m fine, Tobiah,” I smile again as I place my hand on the stair rail, the sensation of falling down the stairs making my chest tight. I can barely breathe.

  Each step sends excruciating pain through my body, but I muscle through it. I can’t show him he hurt me. He’ll feel so guilty... and I can’t live with making him feel like that. One day this will all be forgotten and we can go back to our happy plastic selves. We can pretend like this never happened and move on.

  I stop at the top of my stairs and hold in the tears. I can’t cry. I won’t.

  The inclination to my room hurts even more, but the reward comes when I collapse on my bed. My muscles relax and a sense of relief washes over me, tears wedging themselves in the corners of my eyes.

  What am I going to do? I have to go to the movies with John... And I can’t go like this. I could cover it up with makeup and hope it doesn’t rub off by the end of the night.

  I hear more furniture turn over and crash onto the floor in my brother’s room, loud thumping and cracking sounds making their way through my floorboards. How did this happen to him? How did he get so mixed up in all of this? I’ll have to ask him some day. If it ever comes up…

  If he lives.

  I let the tears fall.

  So much crying. I’ve cried so much these past few days. It’s so hard... but I shouldn’t be complaining. There are people who have it worse off than me. I shouldn’t pity myself.

  The doorbell rings.

  “Shoot,” I whisper as I look at my phone.

  John’s here.

  I hear Tobiah rush down the
stairs and pause at the door as I hobble into the bathroom to get ready, limping down the stairs to the second story. John’s footsteps get closer to the door as I rub makeup on the bruised areas gently to hide them.

  “Amabel?” I hear John’s voice, soft and sweet as he knocks politely.

  “Just a minute,” I call through the door.

  I hear him chuckle and it makes me forget about what happened today. I open the door and he smiles at me as he hands me a yellow rose.

  “Aw,” I smile and take it. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Just like you,” he says, and kisses me on the forehead. I pull away slightly, wincing, and he gives me a strange look. “Are you alright?”

  I look up at his beautiful face.

  “Yeah, I’m okay,” I lie. “I’ll be right back.”

  I rush up into my room (as much as I could rush in my state) and put on a red dress and a black headband. John waits for me at the bottom of the stairs and smiles up at me as I come down. Tobiah has disappeared behind is bedroom door again as we go down the other flight of stairs to leave.

  We decide to watch a comedy and I laugh until I cry. Everything is okay for now. Everything is all right.

  We walk back out into the dark of the night, the moon shining down on us and the stars twinkling like fireflies. Everything was perfect.

  “Did you like the movie?” John asks as he takes my hand and we walk down the strip filled with shops and restaurants.

  “I loved it,” I smile up at him.

  He smiles and leans in to kiss me. My heart skips a beat and my stomach fills with butterflies. He makes everything okay. He takes all the pain away.

  “I love you,” I say after he pulls away. I mean it. I can feel it in ever part of me. It’s like a new sensation washing over me and making me happy.

  He smiles again, his perfect, imperfect teeth shining in the moonlight.

  “I love you too.”

  He kisses me again and I feel the smile creep across my face. I can see the same one on his lips as we walk on.

  We talk about the movie, laughing and talking and holding hands. I love this time with him. We haven’t done this with each other in forever. It’s been too long. I needed to get away. I needed to be with him.

  “I love you,” he says and smiles at me.

  I laugh and say it back as he opens the door to a Chinese restaurant for me to walk through. We’re led to a table in the back and handed two menus. Chinese is our favorite food, and the first place we ever went on a date.

  I find myself smiling as I think about it. He was so handsome with his dark hair and bright eyes… He still is. He’s amazing and wonderful and everything good. I’m so lucky to have him.

  “I remember our first date,” he glances up at me from his menu, smiling.

  “Oh yeah?” I ask playfully, leaning on my elbows and laughing. “Do tell me about it.”

  He laughs and sets down his menu on the table.

  “You walked down the stairs in a yellow dress and your hair was curled. I was so nervous…” He laughs and takes my hand. “And I fell for you so hard that moment. And by the end of the night we couldn’t stop talking.”

  “About you,” I interrupt and stick my tongue out, laughing.

  “Well, you kept asking questions,” he teased back. “You were so interested in me.”

  “Well, I did have a crush on you for the longest time,” I giggle as I play with his fingers. They’re rough and calloused from playing the guitar. “Ever since… I don’t know. Just as long as I could remember.”

  “Yeah, I know,” he grins. “You were so shy… You’re never shy.”

  I give him a look, and he chuckles and lets go of my hand to pick up his menu again, as if he needed it. He eats Chinese so often he practically has the menu memorized.

  We order, talking about the past and our relationship and things at school and next year… Senior year. It seems so far away, but it’s so close.

  He drives me home and he walks me to the door. He kisses me goodnight and tells me to call him later. I nod and watch as he pulls out of the drive.

  My dad’s car is here.

  My heart speeds up. This can’t be good.

  My mom’s is here too.

  “Oh, no…” I whisper as I turn to the door that holds all my nightmares behind it. “Oh no…”

  Unlocking the door, I swing it open, the echo of my parent’s voices blaring through the house. They’re yelling. They never yell. Never.

  “Well, Sarah? How long has this been going on?”

  My dad.

  “Mark…”

  My mom’s slurred words.

  I perch myself behind the wall that leads to the kitchen, listening to the argument happening between my parents. My heart sinks in my chest as if tonight never happened. As if there were no John.

  “No, Sarah! Why have you been doing this? You are harming your body, and I’m sure God would not appreciate it. Do not get drunk on beer or wine, but of the Holy Spirit—”

  “You… you hypocrite!”

  I’m taken aback by my mom’s sudden clarity. I hear her stand and start to walk out towards the dining room, which is connected to the kitchen.

  “What?” My dad asks, his tone low and threatening.

  “You heard me!” My mom shouts, mumbling something else to herself and I hear liquid pour into a glass. “Hypocrite.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut and move back to the door, opening it and slamming it shut. The kitchen stays silent and I hear my dad clear his throat. I walk into the kitchen, acting as if I want to get a drink.

  My mom finishes the last sip of the liquid in her glass as I step into the room.

  “How was your date?” My dad smiles, like nothing happened.

  “It was great,” I smile, trying to bring the warm and happy sensation John gives me. “We ate Chinese.”

  “Chinese is good,” my dad smiles and looks at my mom. “Sleep well, Amabel.”

  He dismissed me. Really?

  “Amabel!” My mom cries out suddenly, making my dad and I jump. “What happened to your arm?”

  I look down and see that some of the makeup has rubbed off.

  “Um, I, Uh…”

  “He didn’t do this to you, did he?” My dad presses in on me.

  “No—no, dad. I fell down the stairs.”

  “You fell down the stairs?” My mom asks, taking me by the hands. The smell of alcohol on hre breath was too strong to deny. “Oh, honey. Mark, I told you that stairs were a bad idea.”

  “How did it happen?” My dad chimes in again.

  “I just—” Tobiah’s face slips into my mind, angry, frantic, crazy. I shake it away. “I missed a step.”

  “Oh, darling,” my mom coos and wraps me in her arms, the smell of alcohol all over her. I hold my breath. “I’m sorry.”

  I pull away and nod, her body draped across me a little too heavy. “It’s okay. I’m fine. Goodnight.”

  “Goodnight honey,” my mom says. “I love you.”

  “I love you too mom and dad,” I say sadly, but I wear a smile on my face to cover it up.

  I walk out of the room and hear them go their separate ways. My dad mutters something about work and eventually I hear his car turn on and leave. I touch my bruises, feeling torn inside. I don’t know what to do.

  I could run away. But I can’t. I can’t do that to them. They need someone to look out for them. They need someone there for them when they don’t know it.

  They need someone to love them. That’s what I’m here for.

  My phone rings, John’s voice ringing out over the silence in my room. I had recorded him singing and playing and used it as his ringtone. He hates it because he thinks he’s a horrible singer, but it doesn’t matter to me. It’s him, and that’s all I care about.

  I answer the phone and we stay up talking for a few hours before deciding to turn in for the night. We pray and I keep the incidents to myself fo
r praying about later when it’s just God and me. They’re things that John doesn’t need to know about yet. Not until later. Years later.

  I have trouble sleeping, thoughts running through my head. I’m half tempted to call him back and tell him everything, to spill everything to him, to make him understand, but I can’t. I can’t do that to him. It’s too much weight on his shoulders to know all of this. I can’t burden him with my problems. Not yet. I don’t want to drive him away. Not now.

  My eyes close and I eventually sleep.

  Something in the back of my mind, something in my subconscious tells me that it’s only going to get worse; that none of it is going to get better.

  But I don’t want to believe it.

  7. Family

  Sunday.

  Another day at church where we pretend we’re the perfect family. We even pretend in front of God. None of my family confesses to their sins, and I follow suit. I don’t know how to approach asking forgiveness. I’ve never seen it done in my family.

  Hypocrites. That’s what we are. What they are. Maybe I’m one too.

  The Ten Commandments. That’s what we’re learning today, I guess. Don’t lie, don’t steal, don’t cheat, etcetera. I lost count of how many sins my family has committed over the past four months alone. Why are we even allowed in church?

  Because church is a hospital for the sinners, not a museum for the saints, I remind myself, as I do often on Sundays. And we sure do need a hospital…

  I hear something behind me, and turn to see Dahlia slipping into a pew three rows back with a boy with dark skin. I turn back around, hoping she didn’t—and doesn’t see me. I didn’t think she wasn’t the church type.

  I say that as if I’m the ‘church type’ myself. I guess I am a hypocrite…

  The sermon goes on and on. We end with a song and five people to up to the front to get saved, to repent from their sin. I smile and a hole burrows inside of me. Why can’t I do that? Just give it all to God? Just get rid of it all and feel the mercy of His forgiveness?

  The lights come back up and the preacher dismisses us from the room. People start shuffling out, some waving to my parents or me. My brother isn’t here. He said he felt sick this morning so he stayed home. Probably a side effect from not taking his drugs. Withdrawals. That’s the word I’m looking for.