Page 4 of Eternal

AZRA

“Daddy Issues” by The Neighbourhood

“ G ood girls don’t cry. They clean up the mess and smile .”

That’s what Mama used to say.

Usually right after yelling, or breaking something, or when she forgot to pick me up from school again because the bottle made her tired.

I think I’m a good girl. I try to be, I really do.

The kitchen smelled like sugar and something burnt.

I scraped too much frosting on the top and it slid off the side, but I fixed it the best I could.

It looked ugly, a little gray, but I made it myself.

I used blue icing because it’s my favorite color.

I love blue because it feels like how I’m feeling inside everyday.

It’s calm and quiet, like when I’m alone or the sky when it’s all dark.

It’s a color that makes me feel a little better, even when I’m sad.

I wrote my name on it too, even if the “a” looked like an “b” it still counted.

I think birthdays are supposed to be like this… maybe. I don’t really remember.

Mama used to use the candles to light her weird little white sticks. She sang when I was way younger but when she started getting sad, she stopped. Even if Alexei tried, she would start making a scene.

I’m not mad at her, I think, even if I were, it would be stupid, she’s dead now.

She stopped singing really early on, she probably never even did it for Eren.

She’d say, “Happy Birthday, now be quiet.” I used to cry, and then she’d cry too, then she’d say sorry, and then forget she said sorry.

I think that’s what birthdays are like.

But I still hoped, maybe this year will be better. Maybe this house, even if it’s ugly and loud and smells like wet dog, maybe it would feel like something safe.

It’s been a few weeks since they took me in, the police officers told me I’d be safe now.

I heard once that foster families are supposed to love you, but there’s no brother or sister here. Just my new parents and no one here talks to me unless it’s yelling. Still, I thought maybe, if I made a cake, they’d smile at me, or be proud, because I’m still sad too, but I’m still proud I did it.

Maybe they’d say happy birthday, maybe the mom here would hug me, maybe this dad wouldn’t throw things.

But then he arrived, smoking in the kitchen and saw me writing the text on the cake, he didn’t look proud, he looked angry.

“Why celebrate the day you became someone else’s problem?” he asked, seriously.

I almost dropped the plate then. But I held on tight, so it wouldn’t shake.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I thought?—”

I thought we should be happy today… I thought I was allowed to be happy…

“Stop thinking then,” he snapped. His hand grabbed the plate too hard and it slipped. Crashed. Cake splattered across the floor, and on my socks.

My ugly, holey blue socks. The ones I had on the day they all died.

“You stupid little girl,” he screamed. “Look what you did.”

I didn’t do that… You did.

His hand hit the side of my face, not hard enough to knock me down, but hard enough that it buzzed inside my skull. It stung, but not really badly, not compared to before.

I didn’t cry, I just blinked. My mouth stayed shut, even when my eyes burned. I wanted to say sorry again, but the word got stuck in my throat.

I always said sorry to calm her down before. I thought it would work on everyone but here, they hate it.

Maybe this is what safety is, maybe families always hurt each other, maybe I was too soft before, maybe I’m the wrong one.

Why was I so sad then?

I missed my real mom, even when she forgot my name, even when she screamed at the walls and shoved me into corners. She was still warm sometimes, she still brushed my hair and braided it when she remembered how.

She told me I was forever her little girl.

Her little iris.

But then… He hit me again. I think I was smiling.

“Why are you smiling?” he hissed. “Fucking freak. What the hell is wrong with you?”

I didn’t know. I really didn’t.

What’s wrong with you, Azra?

My cheek burned, but it was like my heart didn’t care anymore.

“It’s okay,” I whispered. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I’ll clean it up.”

He didn’t let me, he just pointed down the hall.

“Go to your room. Don’t come out today, not even for dinner.”

I walked quietly, that was the rule, quiet girls don’t get hit. Sometimes .

I closed the door and exhaled. There was a pen on the nightstand and a little chair in the corner, I stood on it and reached up. One star on the ceiling, then another, next to the one from yesterday. A sky, one day at a time.

Then I sat back on the floor because I didn’t want to ruin the bed. I pulled my knees into my chest and held them tight. My throat felt funny, but I didn’t want to cry.

“It’s okay,” I whispered again, to no one. “ It’s okay. I’m gonna be okay .”

But I wasn’t sure, what if this was forever?

I thought of Daddy’s laugh, I thought of Mommy before she got sick, I thought of my baby brother’s tiny hand holding mine, I thought of Vik and Kat and the iris garden we ran through on my sixth birthday.

The way the sun made everything feel like magic.

That was the last time I think I felt real, now I just feel… wrong .

I remembered my little red fox plushy I had back then. They didn’t find it in the house after the intrusion. I don’t know what happened to it, but it was the last soft thing I had, the last thing Mama gave me.

I rocked a little, back and forth, and my arms hurt from holding myself so tight.

“Happy birthday to you,” I whispered. “Happy birthday to you…”

I sang it again, and again, quieter each time.

“ Happy birthday, stupid girl, ” I mumbled the last time.

And then I closed my eyes and waited for sleep, or silence, or nothing.

Whatever came first.