We've Met Before

15 - Imploding

KAIA

    I've always been stuck inside a bubble.
    There's always been space around me I haven't been allowed to enter, places I'm not allowed to explore, ideas I'm not allowed to know.
    Now more than ever, I feel convicted of everyone's secrecy.
    I'm stuck in a thick, foggy, haze of lies —and secrets. I know there's something Gabby's not telling me, yet also acknowledge that Cade is no different. I would've thought Dahlia was exempt from this, but the way she reacted against Gabby yesterday was un-proportional to anything I've seen Dahlia do. Even Kaitlyn took an opportunity to pounce upon Gabby. Sweet, hardworking, shining Kaitlyn.
    Is she hiding something too? Does she know something I don't?
    Cade promised me honesty and understanding, yet I know he's a liar.
I'm angry, I'm frustrated, I'm defeated.
    All emotions I'm outstandingly unfamiliar with. I'm so used to shoving everything to the back of my closet. I push it down far enough so it never resurfaces. I shed tears every now and then. I sob, and cry, and breakdown —but not because I want to.
    I break down the same way a pipe bursts. Water pressure channels through the tunnel, investigating every nook and cranny for an escape, before realizing there's only one way out.
    To explode.
I pick up my phone, unlocking it and going straight to my messages.
Jerkwad - I had to leave early for practice
I'll call you later <3
Jane - How did everything end last night?
Sorry we left early, got tense lol
Lia - Oops! Didn't mean to beat ur friend!
Ik she's ur friend but I hate her. Ttyl
I roll my eyes at Dahlia's haphazard message. I wanted to be mad at her yesterday, but I had a gut feeling that I shouldn't be. I looked at Gabby yesterday and saw nothing but despair.
I look down at my wrist and see the strangles marks of her fingers. It burns, and I don't think I realized how much it must've hurt yesterday. I was so caught between Cade at my doorstep that I must've lost sense of everything around me.
It all happened so quick.
Cade knocking.
Me opening the door.
Gabby grabbing me.
Cade shouting.
Gabby tripping.
Gabby whispering.
Cade having a panic attack.
Gabby whispering.
    I shut my eyes for a moment, recollecting and taking everything in like a photo reel. If I were to draw a web of every single photo, and connect it back to a single frame —it would all take me back to a moment with Gabby.
There's something missing. There's a picture missing. Something isn't fitting because it's all horribly out of order.
I take my phone back out and dial the only thing that's been missing for this past week.
"C'mon. Pick up. Please." I whisper, hearing the ring of the phone cycle over, and over again.
The ringing ends.
"Please leave a message at the tone..."
"Fuck!" I scream out, throwing my phone onto the couch. If he doesn't want to pick up, I'll take it into my own hands.
The door opens, and I watch my mom enter the house. She has a lazy smile on her face, and grocery bags in each hand.
She looks at me and walks over, branding my cheek with a sloppy kiss. She sets the grocery bags on the kitchen counter and leans against the granite, her head resting on her hand.
"Are you drunk?" I ask. A question I hadn't bothered to make in years.
"What?" She asks, her eyes widening in mock amusement. She frags the side of her finger below her nose, sniffling.
"Are you fucking drunk?" I ask again, this time raising my voice.
Her demeanor immediately changes, her face distorting into anger. She takes lethal steps towards me. I stumble back, backing away from my mother. I can smell the stench of alcohol, motel, and something new. Something I had never felt in her presence before.
I can do rum, whiskey, vodka, beer.
I can't do whatever this is. Whatever's possessed her this time.
I'm stuck between the wall, and her sweaty body. I feel her skin stick to mine. I feel a sudden repulsion, a sudden fear. I feel panic.
"Am I drunk bitch? Tell me bitch and I drunk?!" She screams into my face, her breathe hot on my cheeks.
My fists close, my nails digging into my palm. I feel incisions begin to form in my hand. I grind down on my teeth.
My voice is trembling, falling apart at the seams. It's become a ghost of whatever was left of it before. The confidence I attempted to have has dissipated into what I really am. "Do you want to rest?"
She smiles, smoothing her damp palms along my shoulders. I close my eyes, letting out a quiet whimper. She brings a finger to the bottom of my eyes, wiping it and bringing it to my lips.
"Do you taste that? It's your tears? Do you want to know why you're crying?"
I stay silent, focusing on her beautiful brown hair. I look at all the detailing on her black cardigan. Small white flowers along the hem line, fluttering along delicately the seams. It was a gift from my dad when I was a little. If it weren't for the alcohol then maybe she wouldn't look so, dreary.
If it weren't for the alcohol, then maybe I'd remember her differently.
Maybe I wouldn't have to notice the details, because maybe they'd be simple facts of matter. There wouldn't be anything worth noticing, because things would simply just be as they have always been. Maybe time would've travelled in a straight line, instead of looping, and twisting and contorting. Time is a cruel, cruel thing.
My mother lifts her hand, striking me against the cheek. My head swivels to the side, the burn sinking into me like a whip.
"Why." I whisper.
"Because you're pathetic. Because maybe if you were better; if you weren't fat, if you weren't ugly, if you weren't stupid, if you weren't your father's daughter... then you'd be worth more than your own petty tears." Her tone is precarious. Her words bite into me. Their ugly teeth sink into me worse than the slap did. They beat me against the wall, drag me down to whatever catacombs they wandered out of.
She walks away, her heeled boots clicking against the wood floors. She takes a grocery back and begins taking out bottles, upon bottles of wine, fireball, and tequila. She stacks each one next to the other, creating a line of bottles. She doesn't bother to look at me, or even acknowledge that I'm still there.
I look at the car keys on the kitchen counter.
I look at her.
I make a sprint of the car keys, catching them between my fingers and dashing towards the door.
I hear her scream my name, before hearing her boots chase me down the hall. I sense her close in. She outstretches her hand and claws at my t-shirt before I slap her hand away. She stares at me in disbelief. I open the front door and run into the car, almost tripping on my converse. I humble the car keys around, almost dropping them into my lap before successfully turning on the car.
I've only driven a car once.
My mom hasn't been the most responsible when it comes to helping me get a drivers license.
I back out of the driveway as she stares at me from the front door. For a second I think I see a tear slip down her cheek.
Must be a light reflection.
——
I exit the neighborhood, my arms shaking with an excitement I've never felt before.
Holy shit I'm driving a fucking car.
I stretch my fingers onto the steering wheel, gripping the leather underneath my fingers. I have no idea where I'm going, or if I'll even manage getting anywhere without crashing —but first time for everything right?
I merge onto the freeway and floor the gas pedal. If suffocating in my head won't kill me, then maybe a car crash on the highway will.
    The car begins ringing.
    I forgot my phone is connected to the Bluetooth.
    I pick up using the screen on the dashboard.
    "Hello—?"
    "Kaia, for the love of god where the fuck are you?!" Cade seethes. I don't like the fact his anger is emanating through the six different speakers in the car.
    "How did you find out?" I shout. I really haven't spent that much time in this car so I don't know how loud I should be.
    "Stop fucking screaming at me Kaia Turner. Tell me why I get a hysterical call from your mother about you fleeing the house with her car. You're going to get yourself fucking killed," he pauses, taking a deep breath, "You don't know how to fucking drive, and I'll personally chase you down the streets with my own fucking car if I have to."
    He's angry.
    Very.
    I roll my eyes. "Come and get me, dad."
    I touch the hang up button and exit the freeway. I drive to the nearest gas station and park, feeling the adrenaline wash over me as my speed slows.
    Holy shit I'm driving.
    I inhale, count to three, and exhale.
    I locate the gps app on the dashboard and look up my dad's address. I haven't visited in a couple of months. I think that's the only place I'll be able to think without external influence. Without having people play the angel and devil on my shoulder.
——
    His house is rather small, quaint if you will. In more ways than one, it looks like my house. It feels like my house from 10 years ago.
    I stand at the footsteps of his door, rocking back and forth on my feet. I didn't think I'd make it this far. I thought that maybe I'd grow guilty and go back home to my inebriated mother. Or maybe, I'd take Cade seriously enough to turn back around and cry to him.
I can't keep doing that.
I can't keep having people worry, and distress themselves over me.
I knock on the door and wait.
The door opens and my father stands on the other side. He stares at me for a few minutes, before smiling and reeling me in for a rib crushing, breath taking, painful dad hug. I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding, and lean into his arms.
"How are you, bell." His voice smooths over my hair, and entangles between its strands.
I sigh, "I'm alright dad."
He lets go of me and looks at me for a quick second, before ushering me inside his home.
The interior is exactly like the study, except it's essence covers the entire house. The oak accents can be seen in the kitchen cabinets, and the coffee table in the living room. Plants and flowers run through every corner of the house. The house is damp with summer, and spring. The scent of lilies and gardenias float through the air, and I close my eyes, and I breathe in, and I'm happy.
My dad's gentle steps heed to the kitchen, as he takes his French press out, and two clear mugs.
I sit down on one of the breakfast stools and watch him prepare two cups of black coffee.
"Can you start buying that one coffee you have from Costa Rica? I didn't like the Colombian roast you sent this week," I say, playing with my fingers.
He throws a hearty laugh, making a smile of my own grow on my face. "I should've guessed, you were never one for nutty coffees. I'll make sure to ask Hannah if she can starts packing the Costa Rica roast from now on." Hannah is his assistant. He pours the hot coffee into the mugs and hands me one. We both waft the coffee into our noses before clinking glasses.
The roast is smoother than others, which also means it's less bitter. It can't be a Robusta bean, because it lacks nuttiness.
"Arabica," we both say out loud.
"I've taught you very well," he praises, setting his cup down. His demeanor suddenly changes and I watch as a small frown purses his lips. "Why have you gone out of your way to put yourself in such danger Kaia."
Here we go.
"I had an argument with mom, and I needed to think—"
"You don't even know how to drive bell?!"
I dig my head into my hands. "Holy shit why does everyone keep reminding me!"
My dad places a hand on his forehead, and I'm afraid my poor father is about to pass out. I stay quiet and sit there, fiddling like an idiot with the rim of my mug.
"What happened with Amanda?" He asks, looking out his kitchen window.
I don't think I'll get through the story without letting out a couple tears. My dad isn't quite updated with my mother's substance abuse issues.
I think I've always been scared that if I were to tell him how she sees me, he'd learn to look at me that way too. I don't see him very often, and he truly doesn't know a lot about my day to day life.
Part of me also considers it humiliating. Everything I do is slightly humiliating, but because my dad doesn't know about a lot of it —I'd rather keep my mom's alcohol abuse quiet.
"She hadn't been home in about two days," I half lie, "She got home and I asked her where she had been, and she got upset."
My dad furrows his eyebrows, shutting his eyes. "Repeat the first part for me Bell."
I swallow, "She hadn't been home for two days."
    "You should've given me a call—"
    I panic at his anger, "I didn't think it was a bi-"
    "A what Kaia? You didn't think it was a big deal that your mother hadn't been home for two days? You're my daughter just as much as you are hers. I physically can't be there to take care of you, so I expect your mother to be able to —and she's clearly proven herself to be incapable of it."
    A shuddering inhale, and I try to speak again —except it comes out in an awkward sob. "I'm sorry, I just didn't know what to do."
Do you want to rest?
    "Look at me," he commands, bringing his voice down.
    I stray my eyes away from the gardenias in the corner of the room, and turn to face him. His brown eyes are shattered and I'm afraid it's because of me.
    "How long has she been doing this?" He asks, although it sounds like more of a question at this point.
    "A couple years now," I whisper.
    He slams his fist against the counter, cursing out loud. I don't flinch, I don't say anything. My dad would never lay a finger on me. I acknowledge that my dad's anger isn't towards me, it's just his general reaction to things that upset him.
    One of the reason my parents divorced, I think, is because my father can't communicate things very well. He curves in on himself, and at the world when he's angry. He's capable of burning the world on fire, but making sure a flame never touches someone he loves.
    I admire his control, his tenacity. To never be afraid of blowing up, because he can control how far his outreach is.
    "And you haven't told me, Kaia? I'm your father, Kaia." For a second he sounds hurt.
    "I know, I'm sorry," I say, hearing nothing but a painful, searing silence as a response. I quip again. "Can I stay here tonight?"
    "Yes, yes you can. There's three extra bedrooms, take whichever you want. We'll sort this all out tomorrow bell." He walks around the counter and plants a kiss on my forehead, before turning to the hall of his house, and disappearing into his bedroom.
    I take out my phone and dial Elliot again, the same way I did this morning. The line rings a couple of times, before sending me to voicemail.
Elliot, what the hell are you doing?