The Test cont.

That’s when I saw her. Her eyes were two lakes, depthless abysses, shimmering with tears. They’d spilt over and rolled down her face which was covered in blossoming bruises- all shades of yellow and purple. Complimentary colours. Most of her other eye was obscured because of the swelling.

He didn’t see me at first. I watched as his coffee coloured fist buried itself in her slender cheek, crashing against her prominent cheekbone. The noise it made was jarring. He continued to pummel the slight figure beneath him. She was limp, like a ragdoll. She began to shake her head, her eyes pleading me to leave, to not get involved. The effort obviously strained her- she looked as if she might pass out. He followed her eyes and that’s when he saw me. His steely grey eyes bore into mine. My eyes are blue, the spitting image of hers.

I hate him.

The noise is overwhelming me. I just want to block it all out, block everything out. I don’t want to remember but I can’t stop now. I can’t close the floodgates. And I can’t ignore the ticking.

When she spoke her voice was less than a whisper, the slightest breeze would have whisked her words away forever. But the house was deathly silent. “Please Jonah.” She directed her plea at me. The lump in my throat made speech an impossibility. He glared at me, hatred gleaming in his concrete eyes. I broke the stare. I backed away from the doorframe, reversing into the corridor and stumbled blindly towards the stairs. I ran up them on my hands and feet like I used to when I was seven, when my biggest worries were how to save Metropolis and how to reveal my identity to Lois Lane.

The blonde woman just came and peered over my shoulder. Now she’s whispering to the other teacher. She has grey hair and a sharp nose and she keeps glancing over at me. I don’t know her. They keep shrugging. I guess all I am is another result to them, another grade, another percentage. I’m just here to make them look good. And there are plenty of other people who can do that instead. They don’t care about me. And I don’t know why I cared so much about pleasing them before. I don’t care anymore. Caring makes you weak. It’s things like caring that stop you from fighting back, when you’re hurt so bad that you can’t put up your defences in time. I won’t make that mistake again.

This morning I got dressed into my school uniform, packed my bag full of revision cards and exercise books and walked downstairs. Another average, normal day. A dream- that’s what it was, that’s what I told myself. Then there they were in the kitchen. He stands by the kettle. It’s almost at boiling point, shaking and spluttering. Almost but not quite. She sits on a chair, avoiding his eyes and staring blankly at the table top. Another average, normal morning. But the bruises remained defiantly snaking up her neck, ruining the illusion. She’d tried to cover them up but her foundation was already ill fitting. There isn’t all that much selection for darker skin tones but it’s never mattered before, her complexion is always so flawless. Not now though. Then he spoke.“Morning Jonah.” How could he dare to act like nothing’s wrong? How could he? “Earth to Jonah” he said with a humourless chuckle. I was silent.

“Don’t ignore your Father, Jonah.” How could she defend him? I wanted to shout, to hit him, to shatter this false pretence. But instead I sat and ate my cereal, concentrating on chewing each and every flavourless mouthful. They both stayed in the kitchen as I made my sandwiches. I could feel their gazes on my back, weighing me down. Nobody spoke. I left the house as early as possible. Nobody said goodbye to me. I walked to school in a daze. Nobody wished me luck. Because nobody else cares either.

          The teachers are still looking at me funny. Not encouragingly; not concernedly; not worriedly. They’re looking reproachful. Critical. Disparaging. My head is about to burst with all of the noise. It’s like a record on repeat, turned up to the highest volume possible but still getting louder. Tick, clippety-clop, tick, tap, tick, scratch, tick. Then, suddenly, a rattling of rain against the windows. Heavy droplets smash against the glass again and again. Tick, clippety-clop, rattle, tick, tap, rattle, tick, scratch, rattle, tick, tock. It’s this room. I have to get out. Now. I can hear the sound of knuckle hitting cheekbone. The sound of the shrill whistle of the kettle. I failed her, yesterday and this morning. I failed that test. And now I’m going to fail this one too. I’m a failure. I stand up and walk out.