Page 14 of The Reaper
Your subtlety has got you nowhere.
He’s stronger than that.
Do you think he wants a shrinking violet who acts like she wouldn’t say boo to a goose?
I knew I wasn’t perfect, but I was doing things my way. Maybe I hadn’t gotten the results I’d wanted so far, but I was in control.
You have about as much control as limp lettuce on a plate of steak.
I frowned. What did that even mean? It made no fucking sense.
Neither does your weak-ass approach.
Take the bull by the horns.
Own your future.
I did own my future. I owned it by not fucking bulldozing through my hopes and dreams like a bull in a china shop and fucking it all up. Some things needed more care with how you approached them and dealt with them.
I stood up, throwing my guitar onto the bed in frustration, and I went to stand in front of the mirror on my wall. I stared deep into my eyes to remind myself that I would take charge. I wouldn’t ever give up. Those feelings I had downstairs when I closed the door as he left, those feelings of defeat and despair, I wouldn’t let them take hold. I would dictate what happened next.
And what is that, exactly?
More brooding on street corners while you watch him with his friends?
He doesn’t even know you exist.
“Shut the fuck up!” I screamed and punched my fist into the mirror. It didn’t shatter, and the pain in my fist made me want to punch myself in anger at my stupidity for reacting the way I had. I’d just used my right hand, my playing hand, to smack a fucking mirror on the wall. What use would I be now if I couldn’t play my instruments because I’d caused myself damage? I had a gig soon. I couldn’t let people down.
I used my other hand to rub the pain away, and that’s when I noticed it on my pillow. A raven. An origami raven, folded from black card and sitting right there, waiting for me to find it. When my mum was alive, she’d always called me her little raven because of my dark hair. She liked to tell me I was a good omen, and that her greatest wish was for me to fly high. Be free. Live my life always soaring to catch my dreams. She’d often leave origami ravens on my pillow for me to find at the end of the day. It was her way of giving me an omen of my own, her special way of showing me she cared.
I’d bought a black ornate birdcage to keep them in, and I still had every single one she’d ever made. Some were placed on the bottom of the cage, some on the perch, and some I attached to strings and suspended them from the top, making it look like they were flying.
When she died, I thought the origami gifts would stop. Dad was never able to make them even when she was alive; he was hopeless at it. But Mum must’ve had a supply she’d made that my dad kept hidden somewhere because every now and then, a bird would appear out of nowhere, perched on my pillow. I guess it was my dad’s way of keeping her spirit alive, letting me know she was always here. I didn’t realise I needed to see one of her ravens as much as I did right now, and I picked it up like it was made of glass, carried it to my birdcage and then opened the clasp on the door and placed the bird on the floor of the cage.
“Thanks, Mum,” I whispered into the air, thankful that the voices had gone quiet, and I felt more grounded.
When I heard the sound of our front door closing, I closed the cage and headed downstairs. Dad would want a heads-up that Jodie was here, and I needed to find something I could strap my hand up with.
“I killed it this morning. Even Mrs Danvers on the back row didn’t fall asleep,” my dad said as I entered the kitchen.
“You kill it every week. I don’t know what you’re worried about,” I answered, giving him a meek smile. I opened the cupboard under the sink and started to root around, trying to find the first aid kit. “Before I forget, Jodie is upstairs asleep in the spare room.”
“Another rough night on the tiles?” he asked with a smirk. He wasn’t stupid, he knew Jodie was a party girl, and that didn’t matter. She was his niece, not his daughter.
“Let’s just say, we should keep our noise to a minimum. I don’t think her delicate head would appreciate anything else.”
It wouldn’t be hard to stay quiet. Since my mum had passed away ten years ago, there’d always been a sombre blanket of silence over our lives. Noisy in my head, but quiet in the house.
Finally, I located the first aid bag and put it on the counter, unzipping it and pulling out a bandage.
“Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?” My dad came over to me, peering down to where I was nursing my hand in the other, and he reached forward to take my right hand in his. Delicately, he brushed his fingers over my knuckles and said, “It looks like you need some ice on this. What happened?”
“It was nothing,” I replied, playing it down. “I dropped a paperweight and…” I screwed my face up, hoping I didn’t have to explain the rest. A paperweight? It was a shit explanation, but it was all I could think of in the moment.
“Ah!” My dad nodded like dropping paperweights on your knuckles was an everyday occurrence. Maybe he just didn’t want to admit that it wasn’t true because that would mean facing the fact that I’d lied, which would be worse than any injury. “Let’s sort the bruising first, then we can strap it up properly.”
He opened the freezer and took out a packet of peas, wrapping them in a tea towel before placing the homemade ice pack carefully on my hand. “You need to be more careful, Leah May. I know accidents happen, but this is your playing hand.” I stared at the floor, not wanting him to see the guilt in my eyes, but he leant down to look at me and smiled. “You’ll be fine. My clumsy little angel.” And he kissed the top of my head.
