Tamah

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"You have to tell your parents," Kiya insisted on the day after the third night.

"They can't do anything and it'll only worry them," I said in a calm and even voice.

"They are already worried about you having locked yourself up in your bedroom. If you don't tell them, they'll soon barge in here to find out what is going on."

I knew that was true. Usually, when I was sick, I would act like I wasn't. But how could I tell them? From what I heard them say on my birthday, from what Zeus himself had told me, Mother would blame herself for it. I didn't want that. It wasn't her fault.

And they would be sad and worried for my sake. It would make not thinking about it much harder.

But it maybe was better to get it over with and to be the one to tell them instead of having them come into my room to find out.

"Alright," I relented and could see some of Kiya's tension ease up.

She had been a complete mess that morning when she awoke. She hadn't understood how I had been hurt again without her waking up. I had been forced to tell her that he possessed abilities beyond the normal. Though her panic over not having woken up calmed, the truth of what it meant, that we were indeed powerless to stop it, made her worry intensify. I was sure she now understood that telling my parents wouldn't make a difference. But I guessed she held onto hope that had been lost to me.

She helped me get as proper as was possible and then helped me to our dining room. Mother and Father sat there and talked in low voices. As soon as we entered, Mother stood with such haste that her chair fell to the floor.

"Tamah! Sweetheart, how are..." Her voice trailed off as she undoubtedly noticed the bruises on my body.

"Kiya, will you leave us alone for a bit," I asked Kiya who nodded. She helped me to a chair and then disappeared. Both my parents were still frozen in place. "I'm okay," I told them, keeping my voice calm and steady. Pushed away all emotions that wanted to rain. "It probably looks worse than it actually is."

"What... Who... Did he..." Mother stuttered out and though she didn't finish the question I nodded.

"Yes. But it's alright, Mother."

"What exactly did he do?" Father asked. His eyes lingered on my neck where I knew there were bruises.

"He..." My eyes fell and I couldn't get another word out. I couldn't say it because then it would all be too real and if it became too real, I would have to think about it and it wasn't something worth thinking about.

Father got up from his seat and walked over to me. He lifted me up from my chair and then sat down himself, cradling me to him. I pressed myself closer and let myself believe I was safe in my father's arms. Fooled myself that no one could touch me, because my father would protect me from everything.

"What can we do? Place guards around her room?" Father asked my mother. His voice was hard, harsh, and his hold on me tightened.

"It won't help. They won't be any obstacle to him at all," Mother answered.

"Magic then? Protection spells?"

"He'll just break them."

"What then! We can't just let him keep on raping our daughter!" Father's yells made Mother shrink back and look to the floor. It was like the night of my birthday. I had never seen her look so broken.

"I'm sorry," she said to the floor. "I don't know what to do."

I watched as a tear fell from her eyes. This was why I hadn't wanted to tell them. I didn't want them sad or worried or feeling guilty. I just wanted them to be happy. I needed them to be happy because that was what I wanted to feel.

"Mother, it's okay. It's not your fault," I said and Father hugged me tighter to him for a moment.

Mother looked up and she smiled at me through her tears. "But it is. And it's alright if you blame me."

"But I don't blame you."

Mother's tears came out faster and she walked over to us. She sat down on a chair next to Father and he let her take me from him. She hugged me as she cried. I could feel her tears make my hair wet.

"I'll go get a healer," Father mumbled and was halfway up from the chair when Mother stopped him.

"There's no need for that. Healing her is the least I can do."

He looked a bit unsure but then nodded. He got a knife they had used to cut bread with. Mother held out a hand to take it, but Father made a cut on his arm instead.

"My blood works just as well, right? Let me give this at least," he said.

Mother nodded and then performed the spell to heal me.

The few drops of blood the wound on Father's arm had produced went into the air. It turned to a red mist that covered every spot on my body that held an injury. Then it went through my skin and my body instantly felt much better. All the physical pain was gone. But I didn't like that. It made it harder to ignore the other type of pain I felt.

"You must be hungry, sweetheart," Father said next. He went to get some porridge and he fed me as if I was a baby while Mother hugged me.

A new normal settled in our house after that day. Every morning, Mother would heal me with the help of Father's blood. Then they would take turns taking care of me in any way they knew. Father would read for me and Mother started to focus on teaching me defensive magic.

When night came, I would go to my room and wait for the terror. Father tried various ways to stop it, but nothing worked.

I tried to keep smiling and keep laughing, but every day that became a little harder.