Zoe Against the Grain, Chapter 1
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AUGUST
1
“You did what?” my father growled. His eyes were like little blue saucers bulging out of his head. He leapt out of my parent’s bed and stormed over to me, his entire body instantly rigid with fury.
I stood meekly in his doorway, staring down at the dark gray carpet. He always managed to make me feel like a little child when he got angry. “I…uh…I kind of…took some pills and…” I didn’t want to say it again. I felt his eyes searing into me, his rage mounting. I wanted nothing more than to run back to my bed and pretend that none of this had ever happened. But it was far too late for that.
“I tried to kill myself…” I whispered. I could feel my face flush red as the shame swept over me. I fidgeted with the hem of my black pajama shirt and nervously prepared for his reaction.
“YOU TRIED TO KILL YOURSELF?” his voice rose to a frightening roar. I cringed. “You tried to KILL yourself?” he repeated my words, like if he said them enough times, they may become untrue.
He shook his head in disbelief, running his fingers through his full head of brown hair. We had the same hair, thick, unruly, deep brown hair that never seemed to calm down. In this moment, his crazy hair matched his mood perfectly.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled into my chest, refusing to meet his stare. I knew all to well what was coming next. I could practically hear his blood begin to boil and feel his temperature rising. I had woken the beast.
I winced as he slammed me into the wall, pushing past me and through the doorway. He marched down the hallway towards my bedroom. I quickly scurried after him, fearful of what he might do. He was completely unpredictable when he went into a rage. Typically, he would tear through the house, destroying anyone or anything that got in his way.
He burst through my bedroom door and began throwing things around. He knocked over my desk chair and pulled out all of the drawers, emptying the contents onto the floor and kicking through them as if looking for something. Next came the bed. He ripped my pale blue sheets from the mattress, flinging my pillows angrily about.
“Where are they?” he snarled, his eyes wild, his hands shaking.
“W-what?” I stuttered.
“Where are the pills, Zoe? Where are the goddamn pills? And how many of them did you take?”
His face was inches from mine as he spat my name out like it was poison. I chewed my lower lip, a nervous habit, and tried to decide how to answer his questions.
If I told him the truth, that I took nearly fifty Tylenol on top of a handful of Mom’s sleeping pills, he quite possibly might kill me before the pills ever had a chance to. But if I told him that I only took a few pills and convinced him that it was just a mistake and pleaded with him to forgive me, then he might calm down and I could die peacefully in my sleep, as planned. I paused. If I just wanted to die peacefully in my sleep, why did I even come wake him up in the first place? Deep down I knew the answer to that; I didn’t actually want to die, I just wanted someone to save me.
I took a ragged breath. “I just took Tylenol and I threw the bottle out afterwards. And I only took a couple, like maybe…ten or something. Not that many,” I assured him, my eyes focused on the floor. I peeked up at him, knowing that if he believed me, then I had just sealed my own fate.
“Ten? You expect me to believe that you tried to kill yourself by taking TEN Tylenol?” he shouted, no regard for my sister sleeping in the next room. Although, she probably wasn’t sleeping anymore.
I remained silent, afraid that if I spoke, I would lose my nerve and begin to cry. My Dad had an unmatched talent for making me cry like a baby while at the same time making me boil with anger. I knew that neither reaction would be well received in this moment.
“SO?” he bellowed. “Are you going to answer me?”
“I don’t know!!” I blurted out, angrily wiping away the tears that I had tried so desperately to control. “I don’t know, okay? Are you seriously yelling at me for trying to kill myself? I hate you!!!” The tears now poured freely down my face.
He stared at me evenly for a moment, jaw clenched tightly. Then he slowly inched towards me, like a tiger moving in on its prey.
“You are a stupid girl,” he hissed in my ear. His rage had shifted into a quiet, haunting storm that left me uneasy, not knowing what he might do next. I stood perfectly still, feeling his hot breath on my neck, slow and steady.
“Go back to bed,” he snarled with disdain and strode towards my door. I exhaled deeply, not realizing that I had been holding my breath. I heard him linger in the doorway and say, “She’ll be fine. She just wanted attention.” His voice dripped with disgust, and then he was gone.
I turned around to find my Mom, standing silently in my doorway, wide-awake after my Dad’s explosion. I watched her quietly weeping, her slim shoulders shaking with each sob. Seeing her so upset made me ache with sadness and all I wanted to do was fall into her arms. I stared at her, my eyes begging her to come embrace me. But she remained motionless, trying to compose herself.
As she blotted her tears with her sleeve she said, “Sleep by the toilet, Zoe. In case you feel sick.” Her voice was quiet and melancholy, filled with sorrow. There was no trace of anger or disdain in her words like with my Dad. I wasn’t sure which made me feel worse.
As I settled onto the cool blue tile floor of the bathroom that my sister and I shared, I sobbed, unsure if I was ready to die. But before I had a chance to really give it any thought, the sleeping pills began to kick in and my eyes became heavy. Well, at least I won’t have to start high school tomorrow, I thought as I drifted off.
