Unbecoming Humans

Chapter 31

Content warning: This chapter contains scenes of depression, suicidal ideation and violence.

The next few weeks were the worst I'd ever known. Except for my mother, everyone around me had either hated me before I had become my mother's slave or they hated me now because they believed that it was my fault that my father was imprisoned. In truth, I hated myself, too. I was riddled with guilt for what had happened to my father and what I had said to him before that.

I was doing this to protect Nima. I had never meant for anyone else to get hurt. But now I didn't see any way to go back. I was so depressed that I couldn't eat or sleep. I felt weak and empty, but nothing else. Aside from my mother, no one spoke to me - even during class discussions - and I didn't try to speak to them.

Occasionally, I would catch Pi'ilani or Justine sneering at me with pleasure, or Blake looking at me with pity, or Nima glaring at me. I wished that they would just pretend I didn't exist. Maybe then, I could simply fade out of existence, and this would all be over.

My mother continued making preparations for the wedding. She constantly told me to smile and be happy. Eventually, I learned to force a fake smile, so that she would stop pestering me. The ceremony was scheduled for the day after my birthday in November. It was approaching too fast, but I no longer cared. Even if I could fight my way out of the situation I had created for myself, there would be nothing and no one left of my old life to return to.

The night before my birthday, I was sitting in a chair in my room doing nothing in particular, when I heard a soft knock at my door. I pushed myself up out of the chair with a groan and shuffled over to answer it. As I cracked the door open and peered into the hallway, I was surprised to see Ophelia's short, curly, brunette hair. We stared at one another awkwardly until she broke the silence.

"May I come in?" her voice was youthful and melodic.

"Oh, right." I opened the door the rest of the way to let her in. Apparently, I had forgotten my manners in the absence of social interaction.

"Um, you can sit down if you'd like," I offered. My voice was dry and cracked from disuse.

"Thank you," she replied sweetly, sitting down in the chair I had occupied previously. I chose a seat facing her.

"How are you?" she began politely. I shrugged in response. "Well, you look terrible." So much for polite.

"Thanks."

"Do you love Nima?" she asked bluntly.

"What?" The question caught me off guard. It reminded me of the conversation I'd had with my mother regarding my father a few weeks earlier, the one that had lead to my father's internment. My pulse quickened nervously.

"You are in love with Nima. That is why you're doing all of this, right?"

"Umm, yes." I replied uncomfortably. Ophelia looked down at her hands, resting lady-like in her lap.

"I love Edwin, too." Her expression was far off, as if her mind had wandered elsewhere. She was only 10 years old, but she was incredibly mature and level-headed. I had no reason to doubt the truth of her statement. I watched her shake herself mentally and return to the here and now.

"I don't know how you can just walk away from her like this." She was looking at me so intensely that I thought I could feel her eyes boring into my soul. "If they tried to keep me from Edwin, I would fight them to my last breath."

"That's easy for you to say," I argued. "Edwin is your match, and he is the correct gender by their standards. They would never try to keep him from you."