Valerie

I: Richard

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Well. A new story. It's kind of been in my head for a while, and I actually began writing this a few weeks ago. I wasn't sure if I would post it, but eventually I decided that I would, and see what the reaction was. So if you like it, please tell me. It won't be entirely be told from his view, because if I do continue it, I intend to alternate between characters. Dedicated to adVinci98, for being so complimentary about my other work.

I: Richard

It takes a few moments for me to register what’s just been said, even though the words are echoing on and on inside my head, until they are little more than a mindless oblivion.

“I can’t love you. They won’t let me. Can’t you understand? I can’t, I simply can’t.”

I can’t love you. The very last words any parent wants to hear their child say. I stand uncertainly on the edge of the room. My daughter is huddled in the centre; her face contorted, her throat convulsing as she sobs.

Don’t cry Valerie, my sweetest. Don’t cry my precious darling.

The tears remain. Her eyes have a wild, trapped look in them. I saw the same look reflected in the eyes of a feral cat, which I brought home as a child. When it struggled, I locked it in my bedroom to give it a chance to calm down. I wanted to domesticate it and keep it as a pet. I kept it in my room for a whole day. It settled down eventually, but the look in its eyes would not go away. It haunted me wherever I went that day. So I let it go. My father explained to me that our house was the wrong environment for the cat. It would never have been happy living with us, and it was cruelty to keep anything somewhere where it was not happy.

My father walked out on my mother and me a few weeks later.

How can I set you free Valerie? Where is it that you are trapped? Who is your gaoler?

She’s wearing ripped jeans and an old sweater. Her long hair falls over her face, hiding her from the world. She begins to snatch at it with her hands, trying to push it back. Her movements are clumsy and disjointed; they grow wilder and less accurate. Faint pink scratches begin to appear on her face. The jagged edge of one fingernail catches the side of her cheek, and rips the skin. A thin trickle of blood runs down face.

It begins to seep down her neck, but evidently she has hasn’t noticed. My wife kneels down in front of her and tries to grab her flailing arms. Tears of frustration and fear run down Beth’s own face.

“Leave her,” I say.

I walk over to Valerie myself, and lay a calming hand on her arm. She looks up at me with wide, fearful eyes. She’s shaking uncontrollably.

“What’s happening, dad?” she’s ask me softly, her voice no more than a whisper, “Why won’t they go away?”

No answer. There isn't any to give.

“Dad? What’s happening to me? I don’t understand it? What’s going on? Why are they here?” Her voice rises, becoming high and tremulous. Her jawline has tightening, her chin trembling from the intensity. “Please, dad. Please tell me.”

What am I supposed to say? I don’t know any better than you, I’m just as confused, just as scared.

“Dad... I’m not going mad, am I?”

I don’t know, sweetheart. I can’t know anything for sure, not any more.

“Hush now, darling. I’m here. Mum’s here. You’ll be okay. I promise.”

If only I could convince myself.

Beth hugs her, while I stroke her hair soothingly. For a few moments, Valerie is lulled. Then she begins to scream, then to laugh hysterically. Tears pour down her face, but she continues to laugh. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know anything. I don’t even know how to save my precious, beautiful daughter. She’s trapped, trapped in her own mind – the only place where I can’t reach her. She’s a prisoner somewhere in there: my sweet, kind, happy daughter – the Valerie I know. But can’t protect any more.