Page 83 of My Brother's Enemy
I looked at the floor as I slowly began to go numb. “I remember laughing before that, so she must’ve loved me. I don’t remember my dad when I was little. But I remember moments with my brothers. We watched movies together, and it wasn’t bad. We’d make popcorn. It didn’t get bad until after Mom died.”
Suddenly I was back there, sitting in that hot funeral home. The bench was uncomfortable, and Daniel had snapped at me so many times. I never knew what I had done wrong.
“At the time, they didn’t tell me how she died. She was just gone one day, and then we were at her funeral. My dress was itchy, and this strange woman kept pinching me, making sure I was quiet. I had to sit so still. I remember that part.”
My throat hurt. “I saw her in the casket, and that’s how I knew she wasn’t coming back. I tried waking her up. Daniel hit me, told me not to be stupid.”
Kashvi inhaled sharply. “And your dad?”
I shook my head. “You know, I can’t remember him ever giving me any attention. He certainly didn’t after my mom died. Whoever that woman was, she went through the house and took down all the pictures of my mom. Those were the only pictures of me too. And he never interacted with me after that. He referred to me as ‘the girl’. If there was anything that needed to be conveyed to me, Daniel was given that task.” My numbness wasn’t quite enough. I paused to breathe for a moment. “He was so mean to me.”
“Daniel? Or your dad?” Kashvi asked.
I looked up, meeting her eyes. “Daniel. I didn’t exist to my father. There was just nothing. The best way I can explain is that I had a room. I was given food. A woman was assigned to look after me until I was older and could start doing everything myself. Laundry. My own meals. All of that.”
“And what age was that?”
I shook my head, shrugging. “I think I was eight or nine?”
There was a long silence before Kashvi asked, “You were doing laundry at eight years old?”
I nodded. “I was doing everything by that age, except driving of course.” I grimaced. “Though if I could go somewhere on my bike, I did.”
“Did your father pay for your things?”
I shook my head. “No.” Shame trickled in. “Daniel had money. I don’t know how he had it. To my knowledge, he and Dane never worked, but they always seemed to have money. I stole from him.”
There was another silence. “You stole from both of them?”
“No, just Daniel. He left his money out all the time. He never counted anything. I was smart. I took small bills to get by, ate the food that was in the cupboards. Cereal is a great thing when you don’t know how to use the stove, but once I figured that out, I was able to make other stuff. Mac and cheese. Spaghetti. I justhad to make small amounts of spaghetti because the pan got too heavy for me sometimes.”
“And then?”
I shrugged, stripping away the layers and looking at myself from the outside. “And then nothing. I grew up, and I raised myself.” My throat tightened. “The woman, whoever she was, eventually stopped coming around. I don’t know if she was hired to take care of the house or if she was a girlfriend, but she went away and another woman came who I know was hired to clean the place. She came every morning in the summers. Cleaned the house. Cooked meals.”
“Now, you little sweetheart, Mr. Connors told me not to worry about you, that you can make your own meals, but that’s not right,”she’d told me once. “You’re the sweetest little thing, and you never say a word, but you deserve better. Here.”
She’d shoved food into my hands and wrapped her arms around me. The memory brought tears to my eyes, and I blinked them away. “Mrs. Calinther. She made me food sometimes. I think she made it at her house and brought it for me, so my father never suspected she was using his groceries to feed me.”
“What?” Kashvi’s eyes were wide.
“It’s confusing.” I shook my head, trying to decipher everything. “He was fine with me rummaging through the cupboards when I was little, but when I was ten or eleven and could make my own meals, suddenly she couldn’t make enough food for me? I didn’t understand it. I still don’t. He never yelled at me, but there were times he caught me leaving the kitchen with food, and he stormed off in a huff. Then Daniel would come in and yell at me. God, Daniel hated me. He loathed me.”
“Was there other abuse?”
I shook my head, aching. “No, nothing like that.”
“Verbal abuse?” Tyler asked.
I looked over at him, shocked to see tears in his eyes. He asked again, “Verbal abuse?”
“You stupid little bitch. Such a waste of space. You’re lucky to have a room in this house. I swear to God, Dad needs to just toss you out with the trash.”
“Yeah,” I managed. “Daniel was verbally and emotionally abusive.”
“And Dane?” Kashvi asked, gently.
The silence. I remember it as clear as day, as if I was back in that household. I shook my head, another piece of me splintering off. I didn’t want to feel any of this. “Dane was like my dad. He ignored me. Daniel was the only one who talked to me, and when he did, he clearly hated that he had to be the one dealing with me. He told me so every time.”
