Drops of Melancholy

Mommy always said that good people ended up on top.

Dishes flew into the air and the fists of the male started going, aimed at the face of the woman who angered him by questioning their financial status.

She said that if someone were a good person, they would get all the good things in the world. Mommy said the bad people would pay by getting in jail. They would pay with their lives, even.

"Stop! You hooting huh, stop!"

I don't understand, then, why that never happens here.

"Shut up, you little brat!" The dark-haired man struck the brunette girl across the face with his palm and she collapsed onto the ground as if a rock dropped from the height of the Empire State Building. The male did not stop there, though, no. His foot connected with her ribs and her abdomen, likely to leave gaping bruises and broken bones. But, still, he did not think that to be enough. He picked the child up by the neck and flung her towards the couch and coffee table.

Fortunately, she missed the couch and landed between the coffee table and the cushioned surface, her head missing the table by inches.

Daddy sometimes goes on rampages. Mommy says that he just drinks a little too much. It's why he's so red in the face when they happen. He doesn't necessarily talk clearly either. It's hard to understand why he does the things he does and why he targets us.

"Stop! Stop, Don, don't hurt her anymore, please!"

The cries of the blonde woman dragged itself into one ear of the man and plunged out of the other. Don walked over to the little brown-haired girl lying on the floor, shaking, with blood at the corner of her mouth. 

But he doesn't have any other outlets.

The dark-haired man bent over and picked the child up by the neck again, discontinuing the oxygen going to her lungs. She choked and pulled at his fingers, but he did not let go. The mother ran over and pounded her fists on his arm, distracting him from the suffocating child in his grip. He dropped the child and hit the woman across the face, knocking her to the floor. "Don't you dare touch me, you whore!"

I don't mind when Daddy goes on his rampages. It hurts but he helps me after. He patches me up and sings to me and reads me stories at night. When they're done, he's very kind and loving. While they happen, though, they're really scary.

The repetitive slap of fist against flesh resonated throughout the house. The brunette child curled up underneath the coffee table.

Mommy is getting more and more scared, though. She says her makeup isn't working as well anymore. I wish I could help, but I can't. She told me some people might come to take me away. But I don't want to leave. I want to stay with her. Even if it means Daddy still has his rampages. 

Maybe I'll draw him a pretty picture. It'll be a picture of me and him and Mommy and we'll be happy. It'll be a time where he doesn't drink or go on rampages. 

Maybe he'll stop.

_____

I gave Daddy his picture.

"I love you, Michaela... You know that, right?"

He didn't like it. He said it was a bad drawing. After he crumpled it up, he threw it at me and told me to get better before I ever showed him anything else again.

"Right, Daddy," whispered the brown-haired child, leaned against the headboard as her father bandaged her lip after examining her ribs. None were broken, but the whole right side of her abdomen was bruised. That was okay, though. No one would be lifting up Michaela's shirt anyway to see them. Her lip, though...

"You fell down the stairs, right, Honey?"

"Yes, Daddy."

"But you're alright, right?"

"Yes, Daddy."

The dark-haired man smiled and leaned over to kiss his daughter on the forehead as he finished up the bandage. "I love you, Darling."

That made me cry because I put a lot into that drawing. We were holding hands. There was a rainbow and we were all smiling. 

"Love you too, Daddy," the child murmured, gaze on her pink and purple bedspread, a design of unicorns and rainbows. When he said goodnight, she mimicked it with "Daddy" tagged on the end. Upon the door shutting, the child pulled her blankets back and lifted her shirt. He did a sloppy job of covering the bruises. In fact, she could see most of them. She removed the bandages, since they helped none with bruises, and poked one of the blue-and-purple spots. Although it hurt and she inhaled sharply, she did it again with a wince. 

He didn't care, though. He said it was "a piece of shit" and sent me to my room. I thought it was pretty. I smoothed out the paper and taped the drawing to my wall. Maybe if I put it above my head at night, it would come true. We would all be happy.

Any movement she made caused a twinge of pain in her ribs and she glanced to the door, longing to walk out and never return.

It's a really hard thing to imagine. I just want everything to be okay again.

Her father did not read her a story or sing this time. Something else was on his mind.

Michaela could not remember if she ever saw her mother get back up when her father stood with a bloody fist. 

It did not matter. The girl sunk down into her bed with a sigh and closed her eyes. Maybe she would wake up to waffles if her father was normal again tomorrow. 

____

The good thing about dream-catchers is that they keep all the nightmares away.

Michaela did not wake up to waffles the next morning.

The bad thing is that they don't block the real-life nightmares.

When she got up, though, she did smell the distinct odor of waste. The brunette slid out of bed - not without pain - and left the room. As she walked down the hall, towards the living room, the smell of waste strengthened and she screwed up her face in disgust. Her father was sprawled on the couch, snoring. The spot where he had kept hitting Michaela's mother was lighter than it had been before, the dark hardwood floor now a tan color.

The thing about dreams is that you can escape them anytime you want. But, when you wake up, you can't escape anymore. What's real is the nightmare. If Daddy sung to me more often, maybe the real nightmare would go away. Maybe I could just go back to my dreamland. 

Michaela walked past the couch, to the kitchen. She looked in the trashcan and sniffed, but she didn't get the odor from there. Walking back to the living room, she smelled her father and nearly gagged. 

"D-Daddy?" she coughed. The male's eyes peeked open. "Wha's dat smell?"

Don stared at her, as if he were observing a skunk in his face. Considering he smelled like that, this didn't really surprise her. "What the fuck you roll in?"

"Daddy, I didn't-"

"Go get in the tub, Michaela, jeez..." He waved his hand in front of his face.

"But, Daddy-"

"Michaela, I said go, goddammit. How many times do I have to tell you?"

The child's bottom lip pouted out slightly, but she did as she was told, and went to their bathroom to freshen up.

In my dreamland, I'm the princess of a land of waterfalls. The birds chirp and they help me put on my pretty dresses. My Mommy is the Queen and my Daddy is the King. He's a nice king, though. He likes to give money to the poor and he never yells.

When she was done, of course her father was not satisfied. There was still that smell.

When she came back he got up, his fists clenched, and dragged her to the bathroom. Without even removing her clothes, he shoved her into the bath water. Her head ducked under a few times. 

In my kingdom, many handsome boys like me. They tell me I'm the fairest of the land. I'm like Snow White, but they tell me I'm even prettier than her.

"I told you to take a goddamn bath!" he screamed at her, taking the squeezable soap and pouring it over her. A lot of it got in her mouth. "You never listen, just like your good-for-nothing mother!"

He cut off suddenly, his hands on Michaela's chest, keeping her down in the water. Slowly, he released her and put his hands in his lap, dampening his jeans. Michaela spat out the soap and coughed harshly.

Maybe I'll one day stay in that dream. I'll never have to wake up to a nightmare again.

Don then got to his feet and left the room.

Michaela wondered where her mom was.

____

One time, when I was three, Mommy took me to a pretty place with a waterfall and tall grass and fireflies. 

"Daddy, where's Mommy?"

If you dropped down in the grass and rolled around a little, they all went into the night sky and lit up. I remember how beautiful it was.

"She's running errands. She'll be back in a little while."

They just circled around overhead and, one time, a few of them landed on me. I felt like the Queen of Fireflies.

The brunette walked to the window and furrowed her brows. Her mother's car was still parked in the driveway. "Daddy...?" she called, turning around to him.

They just kept lighting up, being as beautiful as ever. I lit up with them and Mommy just laughed and laughed. She really seemed happy for those few hours. 

"What?"

"Did Mommy take her car?"

Then we got back home. 

"No, she walked."

Michaela blinked at him and tilted her head. "Why would she walk?"

"I don't know, Michaela! Maybe she's as stupid as you are!"

That hurt, but the child didn't respond, only turned back to the window, and looked at the lonely silver car in the driveway.

There wasn't even the smallest trace of happiness in her eyes. 

"Get away from the window."

"I'm waiting for Mommy."

"Michaela, get the fuck out of the goddamn window."

The brunette looked at him and then walked away, to the kitchen. 

"I never told you you could eat."

"I'm hungry..." Michaela whispered as she stopped in her tracks.

"Well that's too fucking bad. Go back to sleep."

"But, Mommy-"

Daddy didn't like that she took me to the Firefly Place. He wasn't happy about it. Mommy had to go to the hospital that night. She'd told them she'd fallen down the stairs. It was a common excuse.

"Stop talking about that bitch! She's gone, Michaela, gone. She's never coming back, and that's the way it should be!"

Michaela's eyes welled with tears and she ran past the couch, towards the hall that would lead to her room. She didn't get very far.

Sometimes Daddy goes too far. One time he brought home a nice lady and took her to his room when Mommy was sleeping. He told me the woman was Mommy's punishment for taking me somewhere he said we should not have gone. 

The dark-haired man caught up with her and snatched her up around the waist. Michaela started to scream.

That night, I couldn't sleep because Mommy kept crying from her bedroom. 

Don slammed Michaela up against the wall and her screams cut off immediately. He did it over and over again, screaming in her face that she was as useless as her mother. The brunette's head collided with the wall numerous times. When blood started down the wall, the dark-haired male stopped. 

I wonder if Daddy will ever change.

He lowered himself and his daughter to the ground and then held her in his arms. "Michaela...?"

She did not answer him.

But Mommy once told me that was impossible. He was a bad man. "The good always prevail, Sweetie," she'd say. Why didn't it prevail for me and Mommy?

"Michaela!" he screamed at the unresponsive child. "Michaela, wake up!" When she didn't, when there was no answer to his pleas, he buried his face in his daughter's chest where the bruises lay. 

Maybe he'll change now. I've missed Mommy lately. Maybe we'll both go to my dreamland and we can rule as Queen and Princess. Maybe, one day, Daddy will join us as the King. 

I'd like that.