She stood waist deep in its black, sub zero, purity. Its force was taking hold of her body, relinquishing her from her desperate need to stay upright. Thick strands of cold wet hair stuck to her face as the remainder thrashed and tangled in the night wind. She screamed. With all that she had left, with every ounce of pain and anger, with the darkest terror that continued to poison her heart, she screamed. It would never be over.
Claire let the hot water of the shower rain down across the surface her back. It fogged the glass around her, inducing a shade of red to her pale skin. She couldn’t rid herself of the icy feeling the ocean left upon her, shivers surging down her spine. Uncontrollable in its nature, free, the ocean had no restrictions. There was no one force to stifle its beauty or to suffocate its flow. The ocean cared not for what lived below its surface; it would continue to exist as it always had, long after all creatures of the sea had gone. She turned off the taps and stepped out onto the cold tiles. Staring at the reflection in the mirror in front of her, Claire saw everything that the ocean was not.
She was 9 years old as she lay sprawled across their kitchen floor. His heavy strikes across her back restricted her desperate thirst for air. He hit her over and over, just as he had every other time. The satisfaction in his empowerment and of her vulnerability transformed him into her childhood monster, that creature she feared, we all fear, was waiting for her in the darkest of places and that provoked instincts far beyond a child’s need to check under the bed.
“I love you daddy” she gasped as she struggled to grasp in the air around her. Picking up her bloodied and bruised body from the floor, her instincts forcing her to remain calm, she moved herself close to her father’s body. For reasons unknown to her, she wrapped her arms around his waist and kissed his shirt gently. Freeing herself slowly, Claire returned to bed.
Speaking again about their plans for the business on the way home from work, Claire tuned out of what her husband was telling her.
“Do you think that you would be able to do that by tomorrow?” Andrew asked kindly.
She hated it when he asked her to do things. They had met each other seven years ago, after two years they got married. He owned a successful car dealership while she was a young artist struggling to make ends meet. After a few months of dating she agreed to work in his business, six and a half years later she was still there, the success of her art growing minutely.
“I have painting to do tomorrow, Andrew; I was planning to go down to the beach for the day”
She knew his frustration at her refusing work. Anger formed inside her, he did not control her and she did not marry him to be told what to do.
“I know that, Claire, but it’s not fair to keep asking the others to work when it’s your job. I can’t keep making excuses for you”.
He pulled into their driveway, she got out, careful to slam the door behind her.
She continued to stare at the television, eating the meal she had cooked as he walked past into the kitchen. She waited for him to call out, daring to ask her where his food was. He said nothing. It was weeks since she had stopped cooking for him. Just as it had been weeks since she had washed his clothes or cleaned the house. He still said nothing. She wasn’t going to be his housewife, she didn’t owe him anything.
Claire sat across the table from her father, having already finished his dinner, he watched her eat. She carefully gathered the peas onto her fork, ensuring they would not fall. Gracefully, just like the “proper lady” he had taught her to be, she moved the fork to her mouth letting her lips glide smoothly down its metal slope. She knew each mouthful was crucial, as was the manner in which she reached for her glass of water and the way in which she thanked her father at the conclusion of the meal. She skilfully produced what was to appear as sincere appreciation, acknowledging the tremendous efforts he had to go through to provide her with the meal.
“Everything I do is for you. I work tirelessly in places that no man should seek work, all for you.”
As he did every other night, he went on to remind her that if something was to one day happen to him, it would be because of her, that everything he did was for her.
“And do you know how you will repay me for all that I have done, Claire?”, a question disguising what she understood to be a threat,
“I will always be your little girl” she replied.
They sat and watched television together for the remainder of the night until he allowed her to go to bed.
Lying in their bed she thought of him out on the couch. They hadn’t spoken in a month; he had been sleeping on the couch for two. Tension hovered through the air in their large house. A house that they did not own with three bedrooms for the children they never had. Her art exhibition was only a matter of weeks away, it seemed the worse her relationship with her husband got the more successful her art career became. Each day they grew more distant from one another, feeding the resentment they failed to conceal. Two months earlier he had confronted her, desperate to know whether it was him she wanted or simply a provider. She saw the hurt in his eyes, the betrayal. She heard the caution in his voice and the attempt he made to not aggravate her. All she saw now was the remnants of the flame of his love burnt out.
“Your home late” she stated flatly when he returned earlier that night, not bothering to turn her head away from the television.
“I took the guys out after work, we are under staffed and they’ve been working overtime”, his voice no longer attempting to conceal his agitation.
“I suppose you told them that it was because of me” she snapped, her cold eyes staring accusingly into his.
“And why shouldn’t I?” he exploded, his control and caution diminishing as a sense of betrayal and frustration surged his anger. In the mixt of his anger she realised she didn’t love him.
“Because I don’t care, I never cared”she screamed, revealing the truth to them both.
“Dad its Sarina’s Birthday on Saturday night, a dress up party, can I go?”
Her father asked her what she had hoped to dress up as.
“A cheerleader” she replied. He slowly and quietly mimicked the words “cheerleader”.
“Claire, have I not always given you everything? Sacrificed my dreams and happiness to raise you as a single parent?” His voice starting to raise she instinctively moved closer to him, kneeling at his feet before his chair. She grabbed his hand and he stared into her eyes, a gaze of disgust and antipathy.
“I treat you like a princess, I have always treated you like a princess and you repay me with intentions of being a cheerleader!?. Claire acknowledged the violence ringing in his voice, the rage evident through his escalated posture. As she lay in bed, awake into the late hours of the night, she did not cry. Claire had already declined Sarina’s invitation seconds after she had handed it to her.
“Family function”
The police arrived at their doorstep within minutes, he was outside in his car, she had returned to the house. Terrified, Claire had called the police, accusing her husband of “violent behaviour”. In a dispute about who owned the various contents of the house, a rapture of fury and panic provoked her to declare that she was taking off with his car. He had beaten her to it, snatching the keys from her hand and yelling at her to get away from the car. Sitting in a small corner of their former bedroom, she sat crying, shaking. The feelings of sickening fear that she had fought for too many years overcame her once again. In her mind Andrew’s face was her father’s face, the spiteful malice that he forced upon her causing an impenetrable darkness around her heart.
The rain pelted heavily upon the shelter of black umbrellas surrounding his coffin. The sky a perplexing grey, barricading out all of lights beauty, just as he had barricaded her heart repelling all love.
“A loving father” the priest proclaimed.
Claire did not cry at the death of her father, nor did she cry as they lowered his body into the ground, six feet below the earth.
He father had not really left, he would never really leave her, he promised, as did she.
“I will always be your little girl”
The storm around her becoming more ferocious, she swam deeper and deeper into the fierce, thrashing ocean that continued to overcome her humanly efforts. Waves dunking her endlessly into the black sea, bright flashes of lightning are all that illuminates the unknown around her. Claire does not fear the oceans force, but embraces it. Pretending for a single moment that her ability to be at peace lies within her own control. She holds her head under the water for seconds longer each time, an attempt to fool the truth that air will only be one more second away. For Claire knows that daddy will always look after her, and as always, he drags her to the shore
