Bury Me - Tara Sivec Page 0,74

to a sick, twisted man who got a smile on his face every time he hooked me up to the electric shock machines, stuck needles in my arms to pump me full of drugs and every other horrible thing you could possibly imagine. You wanted to hate me? I think I’m the one who deserves to feel all of the hate in the world for you and my mother.”

I toss the flashlight to the side since I no longer need it, realizing that as much as I would like to bash his head in with it, I’m still waiting for him to give me some information that I actually haven’t already figured out on my own.

“You still don’t remember everything, do you? Please God, remember. Don’t make me relive it all over again. It’s too much. Oh God, it hurts too much!” he wails pathetically.

“Don’t you DARE talk to me about pain!” I shout, cutting off his mournful cries. “I spent the last thirteen years of my life, day in and day out, subjected to more pain than you’ll ever know.”

“Oh God! Oh God, what did you do? WHAT DID YOU DO?!”

“I gave you what you deserve. I’m letting you know what real pain feels like. How do you like it? Does it make you want to die? Or does it make you want to kill, like it does me?”

I ignore the pounding in my skull, forcing the headache away because I don’t have time for it. After weeks of being confused and trying to ignore who I really was just to make my parents happy, living through nightmares and memories I refused to believe because they didn’t match the lies they told me, and learning things about my life that filled me with revulsion… knowing that it was because of them that I didn’t have any of those happy childhood memories I deserved, I want to enjoy every minute of my father finally being sober enough to listen to the things I want to say to him.

“It must be nice to have all of these happy memories and pictures to go along with them. I haven’t had a birthday party since I was five. Do you remember that party? Probably not. I remember it, though, even if there aren’t any photos. I guess what happened down at the lake kind of tainted the whole thing.”

My hand flies up to my head, and I press my fingers as hard as I can against my forehead to stop the pain.

The photos in the living room. All those photos of a happy, normal childhood. I was in each one of those photos. I’m in each of those moments frozen in time, but I never remembered being there, even though there was proof. I don’t understand. How could there be photos when I was sent away with Dr. Thomas? My childhood was filled with torture and pain, not birthdays and normalcy.

“You sent me away with Dr. Thomas when I was five,” I mumble, trying to make sense of the jumbled mess of thoughts in my head.

Everything that suddenly made sense a few moments before has now become a tornado of thoughts, swirling and twisting, flashing through my mind too quickly and all wrong, blowing away before I can grab them and make them right again.

“Yes, the day after your fifth birthday. I knew what happened at the lake was only the beginning,” he explains. “You had his eyes. Even though they were the same beautiful green as your mother’s, I could see it from the first moment I looked at you that they were empty and dead. Just like Tobias’s when he was little. I knew you’d grow up to be just like him if we didn’t do something.”

I squeeze my eyes closed and shake my head back and forth.

“I never grew up here. I lived with him for thirteen years. I never came back until a few weeks ago. How are there pictures? HOW DO YOU HAVE PICTURES OF ME?!” I scream.

I hear my father sob and I open my eyes to see his knees give out as he crumples to the floor. “You have to remember. PLEASE remember. Just end this once and for all. I can’t do this again!”

Backing away from him, I trip over Nolan’s legs, my hand smacking against the wall to stop me from falling. I continue moving until my back hits the wall and I sink to the floor, staring at my father with his head