Describing some parts of my life can be difficult for me. Remembering what exactly was real is even harder.
How do you describe the voice I hear in my head every second I dare to smile?
He is always with me.
How do I describe the eerie silence of holding my breath, waiting for footsteps to pass the closet door?
He loves me.
How do I describe the way the vein in his forehead would pop out when he screamed?
I've ground my teeth down an inch in the last year.
I enter the car and sit in the backseat, my mouth dry. The door slams shut with a finality reminiscent of a guillotine. I allow my body to become plastic-stiff, shoving my consciousness between seat cushions. I take the backseat in my mind. It is silent for a time, the shadow in the driver's seat trembling with quiet rage. I don't want to know if he's looking at me through the mirror. I can pretend he's not. I can pretend I stored a sword under the seat and feel the comfort the perfectly weighted leather hilt provides in my palm. The steering wheel creaks under his grip, cutting through the silence. I hope he doesn't notice how my mouth twitches.
I am on a quest to restore the former Queen to her throne with my closest allies. I am the brave knight who leads them. I remind them that kindness is the sharpest sword of all. Beer splashes my cheek as they laugh heartily and toast in my honor at the tavern, celebrating the beginning of our journey.
My father is bright red, spit collecting in the corners of his mouth as the car is filled with the bass of his voice. I wipe my cheek. I look down to see my palm covered in crescent-shaped marks, blood welling in pools where I had clenched my fists too tightly.
I sigh and collect myself while our healer wraps my hands in gauze. Her smile is gentle and reassuring, her words quiet and measured as she sings. Her eyes shine blue-black under the moon.
My father's grip on my wrist is constricting, but I don't dare move. I pinch my thigh so it doesn't hurt. I can see his face growing even redder every second.
I stand before the dragon guarding the tower. I charge alone, my friends having long abandoned the quest. I know deep down that the dragon has scales sharper and tougher than diamond, but what else am I to do? I was raised to slay this dragon or to give my life trying. Tears stream down my face and make tracks in the layer of dirt and dust clinging to my skin. I can feel the heat of its breath engulf me and suck the air out of my lungs. I feel my eyes dry and begin to sizzle as my skin begins to bubble and melt.
I am desperately afraid.
I am alone.
It hurts.
We pull up in the driveway. He gets out and slams the door, beckoning me to him with a flick of his wrist. I take the few seconds it takes to wipe my eyes and gather my backpack to think about how much effort it must take to have good dreams.