Chapter 9
“In the name
of the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit…”
He did the
sign of the Cross on himself and bowed his head as everyone in the church
listened to the Reverend’s prayers.
‘I guess
this means farewell forever, Lyeana,’ he thought as he sagged into the pew.
“Are you
okay?” Lyeana’s father nudged him gently.
“Yes… I
think,” he whispered back.
“You
shouldn’t have come,” Lyeana’s mother told him fondly.
“But she’s
my girlfriend!” he protested softly.
“She
wouldn’t be too happy if she sees you cry, lad,” Lyeana’s father said again.
“She’s your
daughter.”
“Not our
biological daughter, no matter how much we want her to be. However, we’re all
fully prepared. The doctor told us to, didn’t he?”
“Yeah, but
the thing is that you’re still her parents. Why aren’t you the ones who are
crying for her?”
“We’re all
too dry to cry now, lad. We’d cried a lot on the night she’d died. She told her
mother once that if she were to die young, we aren’t to cry on her burial day
and so we’re intend in keeping our promise to her… that’s the least we could do
for her.”
“Unc…”
“No more
from you, lad. Go home after this. You look ready to fall.”
“I’m fine.”
“No, you’re not
fine. Lyeana told me to take care of your father and I promised her that I
would. Even though she’s not here anymore, I’ll keep my promise to her, if
that’s the last thing I’ll do.”
“She also
told us to take care of you. Do you want to stay with us tonight? We know your
father wouldn’t be too happy about you sneaking out like this to attend this
funeral. Have you told him anything yet?”
He shook his
head slowly and brushed his hair out of his eyes. “No. I daren’t told him. He
might beat me up again.”
“He did this
to you?” Lyeana’s mother held the boy’s chin and lifted his face to her
eye-level as she inspected the swelling cut on his lower lip and the black eye
behind the dark glasses.
He jerked
his face away from her gentle grip and lowered his head. “Yes,” he said
quietly.
“Go on, stay
with them for the night,” his mother said softly.
“But Mum, I
can’t leave you alone with that bastard!” he said. “Forgive me for the foul
language in the House of God,” he added quietly.
“I can
handle him just fine, son.”
“Mum! I
don’t think you can.”
“I married
him not because of his cruelty. I married him because I love him.”
“You loved
him,” he corrected his mother. “He’s not the same man anymore! He wouldn’t kill
a fly at the time when you’re both not married yet, would he?” he argued,
knowing full well what his mother’s answer will be.
“You’re not
to talk like this to your mother, young man,” Lyeana’s father interrupted.
“She’s still your mother, you know.”
“Yes, I know
but she married the wrong man… he can’t even take care of his own life, what
more to say about us?”
“He can
take care of his own life. He just beats us up whenever he likes.”
“See? He
can’t even control himself.”
“I suggest
it’s best if you stay with us tonight,” Lyeana’s mother offered. “And for as
long as you like. Ing, I guess you could too.”
“No, I have
to take care of that man in the house.”
“Come to us
if you have any troubles. We’ll help you.”
“Thank you.”
With those
words, his mother left. The service was finally over. He hefted his backpack to
his shoulder and followed Lyeana’s father to their car. On his way, he saw his
mother talking to another man. He was tall and fair and he looked very
friendly. They were laughing and joking together, as if they’d known each other
for a long time. It’s been quite a time since he last saw his mother smile, let
alone a laugh. She looked so carefree.
His heart
ached as he realised that soon, his mother would no longer in the comfort of
that man whom she’d just met. Soon, she’ll be back in that house where she’ll
be abused by her husband, also known as his father.
He shook his
head and entered the car.
“You want to
go and grab a bite now or you want to go back to the house?” Mr. Brett–
Lyeana’s father asked.
“Back to the
house,” he replied quietly as he stared out of the car’s window.
~~ecaf~~
“Chris!” Paul
said as he leaped off the last few stairs and ran to Christian. “Help me!” he
begged, holding on to Christian’s shoulders as he hid behind Christian, using
him as a shield.
Christian
stopped strumming his guitar and cast a look over his shoulder to look at Paul.
“Help you? What am I supposed to do?”
“Save me
from that big meanie!”
“And that
big meanie would be?” Christian asked calmly, raising a blond brow.
Right then,
he heard a roar. His eyes rove and settled on the stairs and standing on the
bottom stair was Mark, his arms raised and he looked as if he’s ready to pounce
on anyone.
‘Another
one of their games,’ Christian thought and sighed. “Paul, get out of my way
and Mark…”
Paul shrunk
away from Christian’s back and backed away as Mark descended down the stairs.
“Mark, he’s
all yours,” Christian said and went back to his strumming, working on a new
song. He gave up in the end and was playing BBMak’s “Back Here” without a
single tiny flaw. It was as if Christian was in the band before and as if he’d
knew the song like the back of his hand.
“Argh!!!”
Paul screamed as he entered the house through the lounge and into the living
room again with Mark hot behind his heels. “Help!!!”
“Raaaaa!!!!”
Mark cackled evilly, still chasing Paul.
“Chrrrriiiiisssssssssss!!!”
“Lalala… not
listening to you, Paul,” Christian said calmly, tuning the rest of Paul’s pleas
as he continued with his strumming.
“Is this all
I get?” Paul asked angrily and was about to add on but ducked and ran away when
he saw Mark.
“After all
I’d done for you?” Paul asked again as he entered the living room. He gave a
squeal and ran when Mark tried to grab Paul’s shirtsleeve.
“What, does
that include the nights we spend together, honey?” Christian asked, a failing
attempt in speaking like a girl.
“Yes!!”
Paul said, grinning as he ran past Christian.
Mark halted
to a stop and asked. “You two slept together?!”
“Didn’t you
know?” asked Christian.
Mark shook
his head. “How’s Paul in bed?”
“Am not
telling,” Christian said.
“But I wanna
know!” Mark replied indignantly.
“Well, I did
offer, Mark,” Paul said as he came back to the living room, after realising
that no one was chasing him.
“You offered
to sleep with him?!” Christian said, stifling the urge to laugh. “But I thought
we’re together forever, through thick and thin, through sickness and health...”
“Why, can’t
I have a secondary partner?”
“No.”
“But that’s
not fair.” Pause. “Can’t I have a fling with Mark then?”
“No!!!”
“Now, now, Chris,
you sounded like an overprotective wife,” Mark commented.
“I’m
supposed to be!” Christian shot back to Mark. “You’re just a sadist, Mark.”
“Haha bloody
ha,” Mark said dryly.
There was a
loud thud suddenly, followed by a string of curses.
“That must
be Ben,” Paul muttered under his breath.
“Duh!” Mark
said sarcastically. “Obviously…”
Ben plopped
down on the settee next to Christian, his arm hitting Christian’s guitar fret.
“Watch it!”
Christian growled jokingly.
“In no
mood.” Ben waved Christian away. Christian got up and moved to a recliner
nearby, clutching his precious guitar…
“Am not
gonna steal your guitar, you know,” Ben said, annoyed.
“Well, who
knows what’s to come in the future,” Christian retorted.
“Ha ha ha,” Ben said wryly.
~~ecaf~~
He ascended
the stairs and came across the-now-familiar oak-coloured door.
‘Lyeana’s,’
he thought silently.
Although Mr.
and Mrs. Brett had told him to go to the guest’s room, there was something in
his heart that’s telling him to open the door and go into the room was had
belonged to Lyeana once. Maybe he’ll find his peace and a piece of his mind
there. But he dreaded the consequences. What if he couldn’t find his peace
there? What if he’d lost his piece of mind there and then that night? What if
the pain steered him to the wrong path and he would end up going down the wrong
route? What if…
‘Too many
what if’s,’ he thought again. ‘Not very good.’
He decided
to go into Lyeana’s room – just so he could at least keep her smell and her
feel in his heart. Opening the door, he was greeted with a sense of being
uncomfortable. He knew immediately that he shouldn’t be in that room.
Every single
piece of furniture in that room was covered with white linen sheets. The many posters
and paintings were no longer on the four walls. The pretty lamps that were
supposed to be sitting happily on tabletops were long gone as well. Everything
was so white…
His heart
wretched and sadness overtook all emotions. Tears threatened to spill; his chin
quivering. All the good times he’d had with Lyeana as well as all those silly
arguments clouded his mind – it’s only been a day or two and he’s already
missing those happy and silly times.
‘How will
I cope?’ he asked himself, wiping a stray tear that had found its way down
his face. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration and sighed, unable to
control the tears that were running freely on his face.
He sank down
to his knees with his hands covering his face. He felt like he didn’t want to face
the world and no, he didn’t even want to step out of this room. She’s dead and
he should be as well, shouldn’t he? After all, he suffered for such long years.
No normal kid would’ve been able to endure all the hard times he’d been
through. But he couldn’t be taken account for being a normal kid, would he? But
that doesn’t mean like he’s a warlock or a night person or something. He’s just
some kid with too much of self-confidence and self-esteem and probably a good
large amount of pride that not even a single screaming or beating nor kicking
and punching from his father could’ve make him sink down on the floor with the
thought of committing suicide crossing his mind.
No, he would
never do that. But the situation’s different now. It’s not about his
abusive father – the idea was only limited to the thought of his girlfriend
dead.
‘Drowning?’
he asked himself. ‘And where would I do that?’ his conscience
asked. There was a long pause. ‘Then, there’s this thing called knife.’
“I hope
you’re not thinking of doing what I think you’d do,” Mr. Brett’s voice rang.
He quickly
looked up and saw Lyeana’s father, leaning casually on the doorframe and then
back to his hands.
He held a
sharp switchblade with a gleam on one end in his left hand and the blade was
pressed onto his right wrist, next to the main artery running through his arm.
“Urgh!” a
strangled syllable escaped his mouth and threw the switchblade to the floor, as
if the blade had been dipped into a well of poison.
“I wouldn’t
thought that such a thought would’ve crossed your mind,” Mr. Brett said as he
gathered the now-sobbing teenager into his arms. “We’ll take care of you and
we’ll help you through.”
He felt as
if he’d been stabbed and his heart torn out. He didn’t want to forget
Lyeana; he wanted to remember her, to cherish her! Why wouldn’t these
people understand? The reason why he’d wanted to commit suicide in the first
place was to be together with Lyeana once again. He couldn’t bear to think how
his life would be without Lyeana. He didn’t want to “get through” this stage of
life… knowing that if he moved on, Lyeana would slip from his memory, forever.
After having
to sit in the kitchen with Mr. Brett talking on and on, he felt as if he’s
going to pitch forward and die of boredom but the good thing was that he hadn’t
done so. He wasn’t feeling as guilty as he had been before – which was a very
good sign – but still, he was depressed.
He dragged
himself to the guest room as he tried to stop himself from going directly to
Lyeana’s room like he’d always did whenever he went to that house. He slumped
on the bed and buried his head in his hands with his thoughts flying ahead of
him.
A thought
suddenly settled at the centre of his mind. His mother. He looked around him
and found himself a telephone by the bedside table. Picking up the receiver, he
deftly pressed the buttons on it.
“Hello?” a
voice asked gruffly.
He
recognised the voice as his father’s but he couldn’t hear a single cry in the
background. Maybe his mother’s safe after all. He didn’t say a single word and
he quickly replaced the receiver back to its cradle.
Just a
split-second later, he heard Mrs. Brett calling him down to the kitchen. He
quickly went to the stairs but before he pulled a chair to sit down, he stopped
dead in his tracks.
“Mum?” he
called out to the familiar figure sitting on the kitchen’s high-backed chair.