Goldfish

The Well

They say you can only hit rock bottom once, and when you hit it, there's only one way left to go, up. For me, hitting rock bottom meant hitting a bottom full of rocks. The well, once a carrier of life in the form of water, now sat with only a portion of its capacity. What was once a bed of deep, freshwater now was nothing more than a cup half empty in a bed of rocks. In a sense, I was nothing but another rock at the bottom of my father's well. The impact of my body against the rocks was met with a scream of pain. I will admit, the cup half empty and Fiona's body helped soften the fall and prevent any major injuries from occurring. I recall my father standing over the well, looking down at me in disappointment. I recall him speaking to me, what he was saying was beyond me, I wasn't listening... nor was I interested in doing so.

I lay there, floating in the cup of water, and watched my father close off the well. What I once held and took for granted was stripped away from me like I was nothing more than disposable to my father. In the well, I lay in darkness, only small beams of sunlight shot through the holes of the well cover. In all honesty, I wasn't surprised this is where I had ended up. I had fucked up an hour ago, in my mind I thought I could fix it, now I see how stupid that was of me to think.

What was I to do? Had I wasted my life? Had I been trying so hard to save a man that wasn't worth saving? I'd heard of other girls, other women who spent their life trying to fix a broken man... and in the end, they do so as their lives pass them by. What is it that compels us to do so? What do we see in a man, no matter who he is, that is so compelling, it gets us to waste away and rot with him? I deserved better, we deserved better. We know this. We know what it is we deserve and yet, we stay. We stand by a broken machine and pretend we know what each gear and gadget does. We pretend we hold the tools to fix them and make even ourselves believe we know how to use them. We don't. Men know what they're doing though.

They know the power they hold and the inability for one to leave. They get a taste of what it's like to have someone devoted to you, only you, and refuse to let it go. I see it. We see it. I see the way my broken father needs me. I see how he's come to be accustomed to me being there and cleaning up after him. I'm standing there, with my tools. He sits and watches me attempt to fix him, attempt to put him back together, and he refuses to help. He misplaces pieces, gives me wrong instructions, and breaks himself apart... all so I feel the need to stay until I piece him back together.

I fell for it, and I paid the price. Once the man you want to fix doesn't need you anymore, he disposes of you. Poetic, isn't it? Was I going to die in this well? I had had a taste of being free once, during those years my father would disappear for days. This allowed me to discover and explore my sexual desires. I began to fill the void my father never filled, the void my mother left behind. In a sense, my mother dying had left me with something I could never have, something I hoped my father could deliver. He couldn't. Despite knowing this, I still attempted. When he left, I filled it with any classmate that even looked my way.

When my father returned, he saw what he once feared, me growing independent from him. The codependency was fading and he couldn't have that. At this point, I wasn't interested in fixing him so he did the one thing he thought he could do, break me. He forced himself upon me, inside of me, raped me repeatedly. After the years of helping him and reading his manual, I was now the one in pieces. Unfortunately for me, my father had no intentions of learning how to fix and make my gears and gadgets work. He'd come home and fuck me day after day, to remind me he was in charge, he had the control. I was stupid and allowed it to happen. I allowed myself to lay there and take it, to become used to this, numb to it.

Even now, I don't understand how it was that I came to like it. How does someone go from calling it rape to calling it sex? Was it always one or the other? Had I simply fooled myself into thinking of it differently?

I turn and roll off Fiona's body. 'I'm sorry,' I say as I sit myself up and stretch my arms out, every bone popping as I do. 'I let him get the best of me and I lost myself in his crazy. You had nothing to do with it and you don't deserve what happened to you.'

I turn my attention up to the top of the well, couple hundred feet above me. There was no way I could climb that thing, even with some breaks in between, where or what would I hold on to? Hope is a funny thing. Just like faith, it's something intangible. Something that we can't hold on to with our own hands; yet, we hold onto it with our hearts. I'd once had hope, up until today. I'd have hope that Christian would stop being the way he was, hope that I was enough for him to get his life back on track. I had hope that one day, he'd walk me down the aisle and cry as I say 'i do.' Up until a few hours ago, I had hoped I'd never have to be in this well. Just as easy as one can find it, one can lose it too. I'm going to die down here. All that hope, all that faith, and here I was. Now the only thing I hoped for was to make Christian pay, watch him suffer, to get what he had coming to him. I had hope someday, someone would put an end to that miserable man... up until a few moments ago, I'd hope that person was me. I close my eyes, allowing myself to soak in the quiet of my surroundings.

'What a way to go out,' I thought. As the quiet seeped in and crept through my body, I hear the scraping of wood against the brick well top. As I open my eyes, I can see him looking down at me, speaking to me. It's all inaudible, all I hear is my heartbeat.

'Mitchel?'

And just like that, hope was back on the table.

'Here, I'm going to throw down the water bucket, sit on it, I'll pull you up.' 'You came back for me?'

Mitchel's eyes shone brightly as they always had, bright like the day I first met him. 'Of course, I did. I was on my way up when I saw your dad push you into the well.' At the moment Mitchel felt safe to me, felt like home. I'd been trying so hard to protect him from everything that I didn't allow myself to be the one needing to be protected, and here he was, doing just so. 'I have to tell you something,'

The unbearable feeling of guilt. The feeling of betrayal, that knot in your chest, the ocean in your stomach, it hit. For as long as I knew him, I had never been honest with Mitchel, I'd never allowed him into my world because I was trying so hard to keep everyone out of it. How many times had I wanted to mutter 'I love you,' to him? I love you, three words that weigh so heavy and feel so warm... three words that I wanted to say; yet, I hadn't allowed him to know me. Was I expecting one back? If I was, what was there for him to love? A shell of a person? There was no depth to me.

'I have to take care of my father, go.'

'I'm not leaving you with him again,'

'And I won't let you get hurt because of me,'

'You're hurt, you can't take that man alone.'

That fool, he would get himself killed to protect me. 'Mitchel, I have to. You go, get the law.'
Mitchel, of course, was more than hesitant but alas, took off running towards town.

As I watched him disappear into the darkness, I remember a swift of fresh air making its way into me, feeling so much lighter from the thought of putting everything to rest. I turn towards the front door and make my way inside.

'Hi daddy,' My voice carrying a heavyweight, hits Christian and stops him in his tracks.

'What the fuck?'