Myra
By: Sri Satish
Tags: Domestic Violence, Short Story, Violence, Suspense, Thriller

Photo by engin akyurt on Unsplash

It became too much when he died. Sure, the torment has been there for a while, but he would always be by my side; he was my support animal. When the news broke, I was frozen, unable to process what this meant. This was all my fault. Emotionless and numb, I stared at my wall for ages, until it hit me. Then I ran.

I ran away from my room, from the time my brother and I would laugh there until we gasped for breath and fell on the plush carpet, ran down the spiral staircase, where we would chase each other when we were young when mother was still alive, and into the elevator, where we would hide from our father when he drank more than usual.

My hair disheveled and my body half-dressed, I stepped outside into the bitter breeze and frantically looked around. It was 2:00 in the afternoon, but even with all the cars, pedestrians, and cyclists, and few reporters remaining, the city seemed more lonely than usual. I didn’t attempt to cover up my bruises and anticipated the paparazzi. Being the daughter of a once-powerful man had its advantages, but the physical abuse should not be considered. My father murdered my brother, and I was going to prove it.

Then everything went black.

It all started after cancer took Mother’s life. Father was always crude but he embraced his violent side when there was no one left to console him. His face twisted with determination and contorted with anger, the throbbing vein in his forehead popping out signaled incoming pain and dread. The second he’d dropped his briefcase on the cold tile floor with a BANG and a shout, my brother and I would huddle against each other in silence, trying to isolate ourselves from him as much as possible. He would put his hand over mine and stare into my eyes.

“Be brave,” he would say. “ We have each other.”

I would force a smile and nod, placing my head on his sturdy shoulders and taking in a deep breath.

But that was before he left me all alone.

Well, I was happy for him. He got a scholarship to the best music school in the country. His days and nights writing music and practicing songs until midnight, while managing to be the star baseball player was unbelievable.

“You’ll be fine!” he exclaimed repeatedly. “He only acts up around me.”

“But-” I interjected.

“You got this!” he cried out, as he blew me a kiss and winked, dragging his suitcases into the elevator.

My brother was the most selfless person I had ever met so I knew if he was going to take this chance, there was no other alternative.

The next few days were calm, and I sensed a bit of….pity? But hell unfolded when I neglected to make Father his daily afternoon coffee. The clock struck 5, and I heard the elevator doors slide open with a ding.

“Shoot, shoot, SHOOT!”

Holding back tears, I tiptoed into the bedroom closet, and crouched, remembering my brother’s warm embrace from the countless times we hid there. It was our haven.

I heard the faint clicks from Father’s oxfords growing louder and louder, my breathing following until there was a sudden stop.

He knows.

“Myra? MYRA!” he screamed, his piercing voice echoing through the pristine walls.

I choked back a sob and closed my eyes shut.

“This shouldn’t be happening,” I said to myself. “Michael said it wouldn’t. It won’t. I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine!”

I let out a chuckle, increasing in pitch before it turned into a wail. A loud, ear-splitting wail.

My nightmares were coming true.

I yanked my hands from my overall pockets to my mouth. An attempt to cover up a sound that had already escaped my lips. Tears dribbling down, my eyes widened and I desperately looked around in the pitch darkness.

Silence.

A glimmer of hope emerged from my void of despair. Michael was right, Father had nothing against me, he couldn’t, he wouldn’t, I was-

“YOU HAD ONE JOB!” he shrieked, as Father slammed open the closet doors.

I let out a scream and scooted over to the corner, trembling with fear.

“One job, ONE JOB! IF YOU CAN’T EVEN DO THIS WHAT CAN YOU DO?”

There was a blazing fire in his eyes, one I’ve seen after tiring days of work with alcohol or a lack of.

“I’m sorry, I-I forgot,” I stuttered, astonished at how I managed to let the words leave my mouth, my whole body shaking.

“AND HERE I THOUGHT MICHAEL WAS THE DISAPPOINTMENT. I LET YOU STUDY FROM HOME AND JUST ASK YOU DO ONE THING!”

“I’m sorry! This won’t happen again,” I wailed.

Then…. I noticed a change in his dynamic. His furrowed eyebrows and crazed expression were replaced with an extremely calm, almost eerie appearance, extinguishing the fire in an instant.

“……You know what, this won’t help. I need to knock some sense into you.”

“No! Father, please. Please!” I begged, on my knees.

He exited into the master bedroom, and I heard a series of crashes and groans. I had to think fast. I looked around. We were on the second floor, but what would hurt more: jumping out the window or suffering through what Father had in store for me? His worthless, no-good, piece of property that was a burden and too difficult to manage.

I got up wiping the cold, stale tears from my cheeks, and slowly placed one foot in front of the other, carefully avoiding the squeaky planks. I placed one hand on my bed frame and composed myself, before walking up to open the window. The sun burned my eyes and I instinctively squinted through the pain as I put one foot over the edge.

“What do you think you’re doing?” I heard a voice grumble.

No, oh no. I put my hands on the surrounding pillars and jumped.

“Not so fast.”

He had grabbed my shirt, pulling me back, resulting in me tumbling onto the floor. I looked up to see beads of sweat on his forehead, with the sunlight highlighting his bags under his eyes. Stubble growing out everywhere like untreated weeds.

“Pain is the only way you’ll change,” he said softly.

He pulled out his whip-like, special, chestnut belt Mother got from him. All happening in a blur, I shielded myself and whimpered softly.

“I do this because I love you.”

Then he swung, and everything went black. Again.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The memory of it slashing my bare skin, and whipping through the air was vague, thanks to the blackouts. They had a tendency for coming in the worst or best of times. No in-between. The gaps in my memory made sure I wouldn’t have to relive the pain as much.

But with no one to confide in anymore, I was alone.

Days went by, which turned into weeks, and I couldn’t take the isolation anymore. Study, eat, sleep, repeat. Human interaction was at a bare minimum.

It was finally November 20-visiting day at Michael’s college. Finally motivated to wake up in the morning, I put on a white cashmere sweater and skinny jeans, leaving my towers of blonde hair down; the markings of the torture I’ve been through were on me, inside and out, and of course, we couldn’t afford to ruin old daddy’s reputation.

As I went to join Father, he stopped me.

“I don’t think you should come,” he said.

“What?”

I was shocked. Was the beating not enough?

“Don’t show me attitude, I think you should wait until he visits us. Think about your own behavior for a while.”

He slammed the door to my face, and I ran up to my room and shut the door of my own, sliding down against it, my body packed with frustrated tears. I put my hand on the doorknob for support and got up, and felt reality slipping away.

I woke up confused in bed, with sweat all over my forehead, awakened by the shouts of reporters outside our penthouse.

“That hasn’t happened for a while,” I muttered to myself.

I looked out the side window and saw my Father enter a taxi.

“How do you feel about losing your son sir?” One asked while another faced the camera and stated, “Ex- powerful businessman Robert Williams is on the way to visit his son in the hospital. Cause of death unknown.”

I froze as I heard the words come out of his mouth. I let out a gasp and struggled to breathe as I staggered to turn the TV on.

“Michael Williams, son of the once-powerful businessman Robert Williams, has passed away in his dorm room due to blunt force trauma. We are currently trying to find a motive.”

A single tear rode down my cheek as I stared at my wall in silence with the news playing on repeat in the background.

“FATHER!” I screamed.

I ran downstairs, to the elevator, and outside into the crisp air. I looked around for the reporters, eager to expose that evil scoundrel to the world.

One approached me, followed by the others close behind him.

“Hello, ma’am, do you have anything to say about the loss of your brother?” the lean brunette asked prudently.

“Oh yes, I have something to say,” I started, “I have a lot to say I-” I felt the breath escape me as I collapsed, my skull crunching against the pavement.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I woke up in the hospital, the furthest I’ve been from home in a long time, and saw a familiar figure standing outside talking to a nurse.

“TELL HIM TO LEAVE!” I yelled hysterically, “HE KILLED MY BROTHER! HE KILLED HIS OWN SON!”

My father excused himself and came rushing over.

“We both know who killed Michael,” he said in a hushed tone, “I can’t afford another scandal so I’ll handle this okay?”

Confused out of my mind, I reached for his arm.

“What do you mean?” I inquired.

“I saw you follow me into the dorm,” he whispered. “What were you thinking?” He left to sign the paperwork as I laid there with my muddled thoughts.

Then it came back to me.

“The blackout,” I gasped.

Wiping my tears, I proceeded to get a taxi to Michael’s college and waited outside the dorms for Father to leave.

Eyes wide and hands shaking, I tiptoed to his door and knocked.

“Michael?” I called.

I grasped for the doorknob and turned it, the door sliding open, and heard water pouring down from the showerhead and Michael humming some tunes.

“Classic Michael,” I smiled and rolled my eyes.

I sat on the dusty armchair, toying with his lucky, metal baseball bat, and looking around at the papers scattered over the coffee table. Music certificates, school newspapers, and….an update sheet.

I immediately grabbed the form, titled with the school name and crest, and read it in my head. This is to ask you if you would like to continue your education on campus or try the online program. The online program is equally accessible with quarterly visits to our school. Get back to us as soon as possible.

No, no of course not. This must’ve come recently, right? I checked the date it was sent- August 20, 2010. A week after school started. Rage electrified my entire body as I dropped the paper and stood up fiercely, knocking over the flower vase. I felt tears well up. How could he voluntarily leave me to the wolf?

I heard the water stop, and the bathroom door open creakily. There was my brother wrapped in a towel, the one who I loved but betrayed me the most.

“Myra!” he said joyously, as he came to embrace me.

I stepped back.

“Why would you do this to me,” I cried.

He cocked his head to the side.

“What?”

“I SAW THIS,” I fumed, pointing to the notice paper on the floor. “YOU THINK I WOULDN’T FIND OUT?”

“Myra-” he started.

“DO YOU SEE WHAT HE DID TO ME?” I bellowed, pulling down my turtleneck to show him the purplish bruises.

“I had to get out of there,” he said softly.

I stopped in my tracks. What has happened to my role model, the one who put others’ needs before his, and stopped at nothing to make sure I was okay?

“I was going to come back to you!” he exclaimed. “That’s why it was out, I was going to switch to the online program so we could get out of there!

“It’s too late,” I whispered, reaching for the baseball bat behind me.

“No, it’s not!” he said hopefully in an effort to placate me, stepping forward and cupping my cheek with his warm palm.

“IT’S TOO LATE!” I screamed as I swung the bat to his head. He attempted to duck but it hit him right in the center with a crack and fell backward landing on the sharp corners of the pristine, marble coffee table.

I jolted back to reality, and let out a chuckle.

“He deserved it,” I said with a smile as everything went black for the last time.