Do you see the waning light in my eyes?
Can you sense the hollowness behind my "rich" laughter?
Can't you tell that I am dying inside?
Can't you see that this is all a sham?
That my happiness is superficial?
★

TWENTY TWO YEARS AGO

ARCHER

If you asked a psychologist, they would probably tell you that pain is both a good thing and a bad thing. Yes, pain is good because it alerts you of infections and diseases so that you can get tested. Pain makes you cautious. But most of all pain makes you cry. Pain makes you limp around your house in circles because you are too scared to go in.

At ten years old, I deal with pain by drinking a healthy doze of my mother's vodka. I am pretty sure that I have consumed more alcohol than the average adult but I can't stop because when the bitter warm liquid flows down my neck and into the pits of my stomach, it calms me. It takes me to a world where my father's fists are like pillows touching my skin, where every taunt doesn't tear my heart into two but instead rolls off my back.

Everyone at school thinks that we are the happiest kids on the planet because we live in a mansion that deserves to be on a property magazine. They think that we eat food from a variety of cuisines if only that were true. They think that my parents are the best in the world because they carry out many charities and sometimes they bring treats for the class to share. I wish they could read between the lines. I  wish they could see that my mother, Abigail Finn is just an emotionless functional drunk and not the elegant woman they see on school games and parent teacher conferences.

I also wish they could see that my father, Marcos Finn is a beast who shows his love for us through his fists and through taunts instead of viewing him as merely a cheerful big burly man with greying black hair. To Marcos Finn, I am a silly excuse for a man who doesn't belong in his macho world. Marcos Finn has other talents though. He is good at naming his children for one. His penchant for ancient names is unmatched. Only a person who has had dinner with Jane Austen or Charles Dickens names their son Archilles and their daughter Alejandra. We shortened our names for fear of bullying. I go by Archer while my fourteen year old sister goes by Alea.

I look up at my stick thin sister then down at our entangled hands. She looks at me and forces a smile. I don't know why she keeps trying.  I can already tell that my sister is as unhappy as I am —if not worse. There is only one thing that Marcos Finn hates more than a weak boy and that's a girl.

The metal black gate comes into view and I sense my sister tremble. I understand Alea's fear. It is a tangible thing in the revered Finn residence.

"One more round?" She asks and I nod. We walk around the house, slower this time but it doesn't help. We soon stand at the gate.

Alea clutches the red straps of her school bag tighter while I clutch the warm handle of my new knife. This knife is my most prized possession. Out of all the gadgets, clothes and accessories I have, I value my knife the most because Alea gave it to me for my tenth birthday which is today but no one in my family is going to remember that and I have grown accustomed to that fact. I particularly like it's shape. It is long, slender and serrated.  The tip glimmers and I know just how Sleeping Beauty felt with the spinning needle.

Alea pushes the gate open and we painfully limp forward. Alea hobbles dangerously as we walk and she almost falls, threatening to take me with her. I know that she is weak. She hasn't eaten in two days because my father locked her in the basement. I am pissed at Alea because she took my punishment and now she can barely walk. She has lost a lot of weight and she looks very tired.

My father's black BMW is not in the usual parking spot in the shed and I breathe a short sigh of relief. I know it's just the calm before the storm. By the time, we reach the house, I am sweating and shivering at the same time.

The cloying smell of vodka assaults our nostrils  when we open the door. My mouth waters with longing and I stop myself. My mother sits cross legged on the white sofa holding a vodka martini and staring into the distance. Vodka martinis were always her drink of choice. When she didn't have one tucked in between her fingers, she became jittery. Abigail and vodka were inseparable.

My mother's brown eyes settle on us. Her freshly manicured nails tap the glass in a pattern we have memorized so well. She looks at our wide eyes and a small smile stretches her purple lips. The pattern is similar to the sound that my father's boots make when he stalks down the hall at night. Whatever happens after that is never good.

Alea's body is vibrating with anger. I can feel her raging pulse on her wrist underneath my fingers. I hold her hand tighter to stop her from getting into an argument with mom but she shakes me off.

"Archilles, go up to your room." Alea says to me. I reluctantly nod and walk up the stairs. I hide behind one of the pillars on the second floor instead and eavesdrop on their conversation shamelessly.

"What did we ever do to you mom?" Alea is shouting now. She is pointing at our mother who is simply smiling in amusement.

"Have you finally developed a spine dear?" Abigail says and she stands up. She folds her hands across her chest. "I don't see you use it when you are fucking my husband."
Abigail continues and Alea's face visibly pales. Her eyes widen and I can see her sway slightly on her feet. Abigail laughs, a deep bitter sound. She almost sounds like a witch. "Did you think I am that stupid? I know you like it. You really are a whore."

"You knew? You knew and you let him rape me? You didn't even try to stop him. What kind of a mother are you? Even the black widow spider takes care of her children." Alea is now crying. Hot tears are streaming down her face and onto the white  carpet.

"No one can stop Marcos Finn dear." Abigail said and for once I saw my mother express an emotion. Sadness? Anger? I couldn't tell.

"Yes you can." Alea said with a raised chin and a teasing smile and Abigail visibly faltered. Her normally radiant face turned dark and the withering look she gave Alea was dangerous.

"You ungrateful bitch. What the fuck did you do?" Abigail dug her fingers into Alea's bony arm and Alea yelped. "You don't know Marcos. No one's ever going to take him away. No one's–"

Alea was not listening. She yanked her hand away and stalked up the stairs. Abigail was in hysterics now. She was mumbling something inaudibly. If I didn't know better, I would say she was praying.  I run into my room and sit on my bed before Alea realizes that I was eavesdropping. The door knob turns and Alea walks in. She looks at me and smiles weakly. She is still in her uniform, a white shirt and a plaid skirt. She sits on my bed and pulls me in for a hug. I want to ask what she has done that has scared mom to her core but I know she will not tell me.

"It will be okay." She croons into my ear and I struggle to believe her. I know that my father will return. He will whip out his favorite brown belt or just use his cigarette then I will have to lie to the doctors again. What will I tell them this time?

In the silence of my sister's embrace, I hear the ominous sound of a slowing engine. He's here. I look at my sister with glassy eyes and I can tell she's heard it too.

"Hide under the bed." Alea starts but I shake my head furiously. I was not going to let her get tortured again. I was willing to sacrifice myself for her.

"Get under the bed damn it" Alea hisses and I reluctantly roll under the bed as my sister takes deep calming breaths.

Doors slam closed and the familiar tapping sound of boots stamping a wooden floor reaches my ears and I shiver. Some of the cigarette burns on my stomach are still raw and I wince in pain.

"Alejandra!" My father yells. "I told you what would happen when you told on me."

I sense danger and I pull out my knife. I caress the long slender serrated blade and I feel something stir deep down in my belly like a beast waking up.

He is now in my room and his deep booming musical voice almost makes me drop the knife.

The bed makes a creaking sound and I see Alea's pumps moving towards the wall in one corner of the room. My father's huge boots follow her and I see her plaid skirt being hiked up. Despite her fervent pleas for him to stop, my father continues raising her skirt. This can't keep going on like this.

The beast in my stomach stretches it's legs. It blinks open one red eye and yawns. A plan is forming in my mind. A plan to end all the suffering once and for all. The beast in my belly is now fully awake and it  only sees white hot rage. I roll out from under the bed, knife in hand and charge towards the monster.

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