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I silently baulk at his harsh tone and try to ignore the pain his words cause to strike through my chest. Why is he being a dick? Is it because he’s hurt?I’mnot the one who did this to him though, so why take it out on me?
He steps away from me, and I watch as he moves towards the kitchen counter, his movements still all wrong. He usually moves with so much confidence, with fluidity, but right now he’s jerky.
I don’t know why he’s being so cold to me. I thought we’d moved past this. He’s always blowing hot and cold – a saying which makes total sense to me now – and I can never work out where I stand with him.
“We missed you,” I say quietly, trying again. The man standing with his back to me feels like a stranger, not the guy who killed to protect me.
When he doesn’t respond, I take off up the stairs deciding to just have the first shower while Bhodi and Cove are still outside. The water from the shower can disguise the tears of disappointment silently sliding down my face.
How pathetic to cry over a man, Malia!
By the time I get out of the shower, there’s a full scale screaming match going on downstairs. Deciding that I can’t face it, I slip into Cove’s room, get changed into shorts and a tank top, and pace the room.
The raised voices are clearly audible from below, even with the door closed, but I’m unable to discern what they’reactuallysaying. I hope they’re not fighting about me. I’m starting to feel like the burden of keeping me safe is becoming too much to bear. I’m not worth it.
As I pace around the room, I can feel the tension building up inside me. I’m angry, frustrated, and scared all at the same time. I don’t know what to do to make things better, to ease the burden on those who are trying to protect me. It all feels…too much.
I’mtoo much.
My parents were always telling me so. They called me difficult, stubborn, reckless. They said I was a burden on them, that I caused them nothing but trouble. And now, as I stand here in Cove’s room, I wonder if they were right.
The screaming downstairs grows louder, and I can’t take it anymore. I need to get out of here. I need to escape the constant arguing, the tension, the fear.
I make my way to the balcony doors and open them, feeling the cooler evening air on my skin. Without thinking, I step out onto the balcony, before pausing. The guys have been through so much, all in the name of protecting me. It would be foolish to run away from their protection because of the guilt eating away at me.
Running away would place them in even more danger, and I can’t live with that on my conscience, so I return to the bedroom and close the door once more.
Listening to the fight causes anxiety to swirl and churn within me though. It opens past wounds and triggers old trauma within me.
My breaths come in short gasps as I try to regulate my breathing. I can’t stay in this space anymore. I need to hide or I’ll go insane. With shaking legs, I cross to the closet in Cove’s room that I’ve never used and slip inside. The space is tiny, and just what I need. Sinking to the floor, I pull my knees up to my chest and begin my breathing exercises to calm my racing heart.
The darkness of the closet is strangely comforting, and I feel myself starting to relax. My mind begins to wander, and I’m suddenly transported back to a happier time.
I’m at the beach with my family, the sun is shining, and the waves are crashing against the shore. My parents aren’t yelling at me, and I’m running around, chasing seagulls. For a moment, I forget about the fight downstairs, the danger I’m in, and the guilt I feel.
But the memory fades as quickly as it came, and I’m left alone in the darkness of the closet. My safe space.
The shouting has died down somewhat, but I can still hear muffled voices downstairs. I know I need to face them eventually, but for now, I just need a moment of peace.
Footsteps echo down the hallway, and my heart starts racing again. I’m not ready to be confronted by anyone yet, but as the footsteps stop outside the door, I hold my breath, praying that whoever’s there will leave me be. I’m just…not ready to deal with them yet. Not when my own pain and trauma is still sitting so fresh at the forefront of my mind. I just need a little time to myself. Curling up into an even tighter ball, I burrow my way right to the back of the closet, gasping when I brush against something and the whole tiny, cramped space becomes lit up with an eerie blue glow.
“Malia?” I call, knocking gently at Cove’s bedroom door. I’m kind of glad that she felt this was a safe space she could come to, when living with all of us became too much. I still can’t believe that the professor has only been back in the house for half an hour and he’s already upset her and caused a fight among us. “Are you okay?”
When she doesn’t answer, I push open the door. The bed’s empty and she’s not sitting at the desk either. The doors out to the balcony are closed but because there’s no curtains, I can see she’s not out there anyway.
“Malia?” I call again, my concern making itself known in the slight waver to my voice.
“What’s up?”
I jump and spin around only to find Cove standing in the doorway.
“You scared me. I can’t find Malia. I thought she came in here.”
“Maybe she’s in the bathroom?” he suggests.
I point over his shoulder to the open, empty bathroom opposite my room.
“Maybe she went into one of the other rooms.”
