Page 42 of Eternal
AZRA
“Smother” by Daughter
Past
“ S TOP FUCKING CRYING! ”
A slap.
It hurts. I hope they won’t put me in the box this time.
“I-I’m sorry,” I stammered, my voice shaking.
Why am I even sorry? It’s not like I did anything wrong, he laughed, a mean sound that made my stomach twist, and slapped me again.
Harder this time.
My head hit the wall, and everything went fuzzy for a second.
“Sorry isn’t enough. I told you not to go to the kitchen without permission, you stupid little brat.”
I was hungry.
He punished me last night, and I didn’t eat anything. I just… I just wanted something to eat.
I knelt on the floor, my knees hurting against the scratchy carpet. I didn’t look at anyone, my hands were pressed against my lap, gripping my dress so tight that my fingers felt numb, but I didn’t move. The bruises on my legs, fresh from the belt, throbbed like they were alive.
He loved using the belt every time something didn’t make him happy.
I stared at the floor, pretending I couldn’t hear the sharp click of Brittany’s heels or the way Christian let out a slow, deep breath and stood up.
Focus on the stars, Azra. Look up. Focus on the stars.
But it hurts to lift my head up, I’m too tired…
“They’re coming soon, aren’t they?” Brittany asked, her voice all sweet and fake.
She was already getting ready, smoothing out her apron and fluffing her hair, like everything was fine. Like she didn’t see the monster right in front of her. Like she wasn’t a monster herself
But everything was wrong. Everything .
Christian didn’t answer right away, he walked over to me again, like he forgot something.
He didn’t touch me, but I could feel him there, like a shadow pressing down on me.
He stepped closer, and I could smell the sweat on him, mixed with the awful smell of alcohol that always clung to his shirt. And that stupid cross hanging around his neck.
Liar. He’s a LIAR!!!!!
I didn’t flinch though, I couldn’t move.
That would only make it worse. I thought about the box, dark and small, where I’d spent hours alone, my heart racing in the silence, counting like when my mom was too scared of what she could do to me when she drank too much.
“You know what you need to do, don’t you?” His voice was low, almost a whisper, but it felt like a threat. “When they get here… you don’t say a word. You don’t speak unless you’re spoken to. Got it?”
I didn’t answer him, the words got stuck in my throat, like they were made of concrete.
He took a step closer, his boots tapping on the floor. I flinched a little and he caught it. “What’s wrong with you, huh? You afraid of me now?” He reached down, grabbing a fistful of my hair and jerking my head up to look at him.
It hurts.
His fingers dug into my scalp, and I felt the sting, but I didn’t scream, I didn’t even cry. There was nothing left to cry for anymore.
I thought about the last time I had felt safe.
It felt like a lifetime ago.
He let go of my hair and stepped back. “If you don’t screw this up, maybe I won’t have to make things worse.”
Please, don’t.
Brittany came up beside him then, acting like the loving wife.
She ran her fingers through her hair, smoothing it down slowly, then she looked at me, her eyes almost empty.
“We’re doing this for you, you know,” she said it with so much confidence, as if I could believe a word of it.
“We’re giving you a home. Food. A family. A future .”
It’s not true. It’s not true. It’s not true.
I could barely breathe, I couldn’t look at her, I didn’t want to. She was part of this. She watched . She never helped. She was just as guilty.
Then Christian told her to dress me, like I was some sort of doll. My back ached from where he had beaten me earlier. He had used the belt again, hard enough that it made my bones scream.
My skin had been torn open, and I didn’t even know how much blood had seeped through my clothes.
Brittany pulled a faded dress from the closet, it was ugly, and it smelled bad.
She didn’t ask if I wanted to wear it, she shoved it at me, and I didn’t move.
My body didn’t want to cooperate, but then she slapped me across the cheek, the sting burned, but it wasn’t the worst thing I’d felt from her.
It was the look in her eyes that hurt the most, like I wasn’t even worth the air I breathed.
“Put it on,” she said, her voice cold. “You better be quiet when they arrive. If you talk, if you say anything, if you think about ruining this, I’ll make sure you regret it.”
I nodded, barely able to keep my head up, there was no other choice, there was no escape.
She dressed me quickly, her hands rough as she yanked the sleeves over my arms. My body stiffened as the fabric scraped against the raw skin of my back.
I wanted to scream, to fight back, but I felt so small, so powerless.
When she was done, she stood there for a moment, staring at me.
Her lips curved into a smile, but it was empty.
“Now remember what we talked about. You’re not allowed to say a word when they come.
No crying. No talking, no nothing. If you do, they'll take you from here and leave you in the streets.”
I nodded again, too scared to do anything else. I thought about what it would be like to be out there, alone in the dark, the thought made my heart race.
The doorbell rang, it was time.
Brittany patted me on the head like I was a pet. “Behave,” she said, as if I had a choice.
She straightened her dress, showcased her fake smile again, and walked out, leaving me alone in the silence. The moment they walked in, everything about the house changed. The warmth, the comfort, the air. T hem …
Brittany smiled with her teeth but not her eyes. “Fix your dress,” she said, tugging at the hem like I was her little puppet.
My heart jumped, it was her again, the caseworker, clipboard, shiny shoes, that weird, chirpy voice like she was hosting a kid’s show.
Christian opened the door all smiles, and Brittany slipped into her “perfect wife” routine.
I stayed by the wall like I was told, quiet, still, pretty. Invisible. The woman didn’t even say my name, she said, “And how is she doing?”
She’s right here. You could ask her yourself.
But she didn’t, they never did.
Brittany launched into the same rehearsed speech about “adjustments” and “trauma” and how “we give her space.”
I watched them all like I was watching a movie I’d seen a hundred times, I mouthed the lines with them.
Why does no one ever ask me anything? Why is it like I’m not even allowed to speak?
My mouth stayed shut, but my brain screamed: Is this normal? Am I the only one who feels like something’s wrong?
The woman glanced at me, her eyes paused for half a second on the fading bruise under my eye, then she smiled. “Well, everything seems fine here.”
Fine.
Christian laughed and said something about “progress.” Brittany patted my head. I wanted to slap her hand away. Why is no one hearing me?
And then the door closed, and they were gone. Christian’s smile dropped like it had never been real. Brittany’s eyes turned to ice. “See? That wasn’t so hard,” she said, like I had done something right.
But all I felt was this tightness in my chest, this wrongness I couldn’t name.
If this is a foster home, why does it feel like a trap?
I didn’t say a word, I closed my eyes, maybe if I didn’t look at them, they wouldn’t see me.
They don’t even want to see me either way.
If Mama was alive and if Papa Alexei was too, I’d never be here. They would’ve never let me end up like this. I hoped so or maybe I dreamed of it in a way, but they’re dead.
How is everyone so blind?
I wanted to scream that they’re lying, nothing is fine here. But they wouldn’t care, if they did, they’d see the small cut on my cheek, the tears threatening to spill from my eyes.
But they don’t care, the entire world forgets about the kids who cry in silence.
That thought makes me want to throw up, no one cares about me, no one, no one will protect me.
I squeeze my eyes shut, forcing the memory down where all the other ghosts wait. My cold hands shake when I reach for the pills hidden in the bathroom cabinet. Just one to make the pain go quiet, to bring them back in my dreams, whole, smiling, alive.
Maybe then, I’ll see them again, maybe then, it won’t hurt so much.