Because I Was Never Mine (Book One, Chapter Three)

Chapt 3

Then and Now

She wasn’t always a druggie. No, Phoebe wasn’t always a wasted druggie – she used to be ok, not great, but ok – before she became nothing but a sad, skeletal frame.

 

Her daddy- Phoebe’s daddy – used to go away to work.

She didn’t know exactly what he did, but she always overheard people speaking, saying her daddy worked on the oil rigs in an African country. She wondered what an oil rig was; it sounded strange- an oil rig, but whatever it was, Phoebe knew that it kept her daddy away for two months at a time.

As a little girl, she didn’t like that he was away so often and for so long. She wondered many times if all of the problems in their family – her father’s drinking problem, her mother’s depression, her brother’s sickness, her protectiveness, her baby sister’s neediness, the arguing and the objects flying in anger – was the result of the oil rig.

As she became older, she had a love/hate relationship with the idea of the oil rig. She hadn’t bothered to enquire more about it, no longer interested in knowing.

When her father was gone to the oil rig, the home was not as chaotic, or as dark, although the sinister element in their home life never completely went away. But when her father was there, at home, the dark cloud that only ever just hung would suddenly begin to pour, not stopping until he left once again.

 

Life has a way of knocking the life within you right out sometimes. It’s as if there’s a personal choice about whether or not you allow it to completely take you down, or if you will arise from the ashes to which life burnt you, and resume your former self. The choice is nothing, if not personal. It’s a matter of inner strength. The problem is that life doesn’t stop; it only continues. And at times, getting up doesn’t even feel like an option. At times, getting up seems like it’s nothing but a dream.

Sometimes when one cannot deal with the reality, or the dreaming becomes impossible, more options become available. More options, like escape.

 

They were dark nights- darker than just being without the light of the sun. They were dark nights in that she started knowing that after sunset, a meal would follow, which would be like an introduction to the evening chores – giving her baby sister, Hannah, a bath; doing the dishes, if her mother’s mood was sombre; seeing that everything was ready for the next day – and then it would be time to go to bed. At first, going to bed was the one and only activity that brought her peace; where she could close her eyes and drift away to a land of grey ‘nothing’ and spend hours there, before awaking to start another day of energy-draining interactions and chores. At first, her bed brought her comfort, but then things changed.

It started when she was fourteen years old, about seven months after she first started menstruating.

She had started becoming shapelier, her hips swelling slightly, giving her a softer, more womanly appearance; her breasts becoming tender bumps. She had first admired the transformation, monitoring it all with pleasure. She had run her palms over herself softly, slowly, each morning and evening when she bathed and moisturized herself in front of the mirror in the bathroom.

But the beauty she had thought she’d started loving, she immediately came to loathe on the first night when Riley crawled into her bed. His touch was hard and desperate, leaving her growing swells feeling bruised and infected. He seemed to love and hate the way her body was changing- he loved looking at it, she could see it in his eyes; but he would touch her like he hated what she had becoming, hurting her more and more each time he would crawl underneath her comforters with her.

She hated nights. She hated Riley, her older brother.

 

Phoebe Ludick, second-born child of Ryan and Phyllis Ludick, but first-born daughter.

It wasn’t a secret that Ryan Ludick fell in love with his first little girl the minute he saw her red cherubic cheeks and blue-green eyes.

“Wow,” he was said to have murmured, over and over again, from the minute she first screamed, and for months to follow.

She was his angel; the apple of his eye.

Phyllis Ludick was said to have been one of those mothers who, while undeniably having love, also possessed a certain degree of envy towards her daughter.

It was safe to say that she adored her little boy, Riley; he had been the cement that had made Ryan and her relationship something more permanent, although it was only when Phoebe was born, that Ryan had proposed.

With Ryan being away from home the majority of the time, Phoebe spent most of her growing years with her mother who seemed to despise more than love her; a mother who did practically nothing to stop her older brother from bullying her.

In the beginning, Phoebe would tattle on her brother when Ryan returned from being away, but had eventually stopped, when she realized that Phyllis would always get the last word in. Phyllis always maintained that Phoebe had fallen into the habit of telling tales that were only for the purpose of getting attention, and that she in no way felt remorse about what trouble her tales could cause for anybody else, let alone her own brother.

Ryan fell deeper and deeper into his alcoholism; so much so, that he didn’t even have the heart to care about himself, and even less for the apple of his eye.

That was why she didn’t even bother telling anybody about Riley’s visits to her bed in the dark of the night.

Her mother said: Children should be seen and not heard.

And so, what was the point of talking, if nobody was willing to listen?

 

Phoebe was ten-years old when Hannah was born.

Ryan and Phyllis called her The Little Late Lamb.

At this point in their marriage, it seemed like Ryan was either bored or just simply not interested in family life anymore, or maybe the novelty of becoming a father had worn off; Phyllis didn’t seem to have any particular interest in a little baby either. But when there were people around, they would coo about The Little Late Lamb, how different to Riley and Phoebe she was.

“Look at her jet black hair, how thick it is- I wonder where she gets it from.”

“Oh, she’s the quietest little baby, The Little Late Lamb.”

“Phoebe is like The Little Late Lamb’s mother, she is! I hardly get a chance to even hold her, its true!”

It wasn’t even that Phoebe wanted to assume the role of ‘mother’. Of course she was very fond of her little sister, and what ten-years old doesn’t want to play ‘mommy’ or ‘doll’ with an actual baby, but the truth was that Phoebe felt sorry for Hannah. Poor Hannah was just left alone in her crib while Phyllis gossiped on the phone about how drunk Ryan was, or how glad she was that he had just left for another two months, or how anxious she was that he was returning soon, or how she couldn’t possibly leave Ryan, considering that he had done everything he could to cripple her and ensure that she stayed with him, no matter what- she had no work experience and was now so old.

Poor Hannah was left alone with a dirty nappy for hours while Phyllis would lie in Riley’s room with the door closed and locked, the only sound escaping being those of pages in her latest novel turning, or her sniffling and sobbing into pillows Riley would have a tantrum over when he returned from rugby practise or from his friends.

He’d whine, “Gross, my pillows are wet, and slimy. Gross!”

Poor Hannah would grab at the bottle with such force, it would often hit her on the forehead, and she would wail, which would cause Phyllis to complain about the ‘child’s awful racket’ and scream for Phoebe to please keep Hannah quiet, before she made them both quiet forever.

Phoebe simply had to take care of Hannah, because if she didn’t, who would?

 

When Riley started coming to her at night, she had to protect Hannah even more.

Phyllis was capable of nothing anymore; her depression had become the only thing she could concentrate on.

Ryan only thought of work, and his next bottle of brandy.

Riley was sick mentally.

The whole family had gone down the drain.

There was only her – Phoebe – to keep some of form of normalcy alive in the household; keep the smell of food in the air, so that those who popped in could smell ‘home’ instead of ‘house’; make sure that Hannah ate, so that she picked up weight for her next clinic appointment, to avoid the risk of the Sisters becoming concerned to the point of sending Child Welfare around to their home – Lord knew about the way rumours went flying around in their neighbourhood; keep things clean and tidy enough, so that the conditions were decent enough to live in; even make sure that her paedophiliac-brother’s basic human needs were seen to.

Life had become pointless and unbearable. It was simply one day giving way to another. And she tried to find some common ground.

“Mom, may I talk to you about something important?” Phoebe had tried to engage with her mother.

“No! No, you spoilt brat! You may not speak to me? And what on earth could be so important, huh? I’ll tell you what… nothing! Nothing, because you’re not important, that’s why…”

She had tried to speak to her mother a few times, trying different angles, but nothing worked. Her mother was not interested in a single word that came from her mouth.

It was frustrating at first, because there were household issues that Phoebe believed her mother was responsible for, that she wished her mother would assume control over; but her mother wouldn’t budge.

Then it became sad, because it was like the only thing Hannah knew of her mother was a puffy, red, just-cried face, with deep frown wrinkles between her eyes, or her back – the way her mother would drag herself away from wherever she had to come into contact with her baby, her baby whose arms were always outstretched, looking for love from a woman whose arms only ever hugged herself as she seemed to be keeping herself together before the sobs caused her to fall apart – and nothing more, which she eventually seemed to become used to.

The sadness became numbness, as the endless chores, duties, responsibilities and expectations turned into a never-ending cycle that only concluded when the night swallowed her into restless oblivion, accompanied by the disgusting, unwelcome ache between her thighs.

Once, Phoebe had waited, with anxious hope, for her father’s arrival. She planned on telling him everything, from her mother’s downward drop, to her brother’s sick obsession with her. She had counted down the days to his arrival the way she had always counted down the days to her birthdays, or to Christmas. She planned to steal him away from Riley, away from Phyllis; away from the bottle he was licking his lips for – before he could take even a sip, before she lost him to intoxication – so that she could beg him to save her, his little girl, the Apple of his Eye, from the evils that had overcome their home. She believed that he would know what needed to be done and that he would see that it got done, so that his little girl could be safe and happy once again. She believed, she believed, she believed; as if her life depended on it, because in some way, it really did.

And so it felt as if someone had taken her up in a helicopter – as high as it could possibly go – and dropped her, the height of it so extreme, that death met with her not even halfway through, yet still not preventing the ugly crash that follows such a tragic fall.

He said, “Now Phoebe, why would you say such things about your mother? I mean, she’s your mother. And my god! Riley is your brother! What are you trying to do? Ruin him?”

“No, I…”

“I want to hear no more. I can hardly believe you! Do you know how difficult it is for me, working away the way I do, and now you want to tell me things, as if you want me to feel guilty?”

She’d stood before her father in utter shock, her lips slightly parted, making a tiny dark circle, filled with confused emptiness- at a complete loss for words.

She felt hollow and worthless except for caring for Hannah.

If it wasn’t for Hannah…

 

Phoebe could have believed in miracles again, when one early morning, she heard her mother’s heartbroken cry break the sleeping silence, and rushing to find out what had happened, she found her mother kneeling before the coffee table in the lounge, weeping hysterically (to that point where the body shakes violently), with a piece of A4 paper, folded in half, clutched to her heaving chest.

Her first thought was that her father had been in an accident, or worse, had died, but she knew that it couldn’t be, because she usually suffered from terrible dreams and crippling stomach aches when something bad had happened, or if unpleasant news was on its’ way- none of which had occurred.

“Mom?”

It was like the sound of her voice had sent her mother into a state of shock for a few brief moments- the way she froze in her position, not moving an inch, with the paper still firmly held against her chest – and she contemplated tiptoeing back to her bedroom.

She could hear Hannah moving around from her bedroom down the passage; the sound seemed to break Phyllis out of the frozen trance she had gone into.

“You!” Phyllis suddenly sprung up from the floor, her index finger pointed accusatorily at Phoebe, fiery anger flickering across her face, “All of this is your fault- If you had just shut up instead of always acting like a complete baby!”

Phoebe took a few steps back. She wasn’t afraid of her mother’s physical capabilities, knowing that they were minimal, if not complete non-existent, following years of depression that had eaten away at her.

Putting a few feet between Phyllis and herself felt like a safer option, even if it was just to prevent the disaster defending herself could become, if the confrontation went so far.

Her mother’s eyes were wild – the emotion therein – looking directly into hers, with deep, boiling, dislike.

“You!” her mother’s voice was low, dangerous, “You being the spoilt little brat that you are… You always wanted your own way- could never handle being without the spotlight!”

Phyllis was walking slowly, steadily towards Phoebe, causing her to back up into the far end of the passage wall, until there was nowhere left to back up into.

“You made him look for a job overseas, you selfish little bitch; you and your little lies have robbed me of my Riley!”

Phoebe caught the strong body odours that came off Phyllis as she spoke, proof that her mother had long since stopped caring for her personal hygiene.

She couldn’t think of when the last time was that she had been so close to her mother, but judging by how tall she was, as she towered above the woman in whose lap she used to fall asleep in, it was obvious that it had been a very long time.

Somewhere to the left side of Phyllis, Phoebe could see her sister’s frame, emerging cautiously from her bedroom door. Hannah was a pre-teen then, and had become accustomed to her older sister protecting her, seeing to her best interests, and so her eyes were shaped into large balls as she witnessed the wild animal that had become of the woman she had come to call mother, but with whom she shared no such connection.

“Mother, I don’t know what you mean but I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Phoebe said, calmly, but sternly, assuming the more parental role, considering Phyllis’ incompetence in performing the duty, “What are you crying about? Who sought work overseas?”

“As if you don’t know, you little bitch!” Phyllis lunged at Phoebe, hands reaching out to grab hold of her throat, but missing slightly, as Phoebe darted sideways, screaming, “You insist on playing this innocent victim, but we all know what you told your father about Riley – the most disgusting thing in the world!”

Boiling point had been reached, and Phoebe charged full force towards her mother and upon reaching her, she clutched her mother’s shoulders in her fists, shoving her against the wall that was behind her, holding her in place so that she couldn’t move.

“Now you listen to me, Mother!” Phoebe’s words came out from between her thinly pursed lips, in what sounded like a harsh whisper, “Who exactly are you to come at me with accusations, when you have been anything but present or involved in the running of this family, for at least the last decade?”

The words tumbled out of her mouth as she had imagined that they would, in the countless scenarios that had played through her mind, over and over again, in the preceding years leading up to the moment she had always known would come.

Her mother looked pathetic, small and helpless against the passage wall, her eyes bloodshot from the crying, cheeks clammy, with mucous running down her nose, which she quickly sniffed up, almost with perfect timing, before their trail reached her moist upper lip. Beneath the red of her eyes, Phoebe could see that her mother was frightened, now that she was pinned and unable to move.

“Say something, you witch!” Phoebe screamed; her nose was pressed up so close to her mother’s, they almost touched; she strengthened her grip on her mother’s shoulders, feeling the bones in her fists. She wondered how often her mother ate.

The silence that filled the house was loud, filling every second with anxiety, broken only by the reckless sniff of her mother, pulling the mucous back up into her nostrils, making Phoebe scowl with added disgust.

“SAY SOMETHING!”

“I have nothing to say,” Phyllis whimpered, somehow folding into herself, as if she was squeezing herself into the cracks in the wall.

“You had so much to say a few minutes ago, you bitter hag!” Phoebe hissed, “Calling me bitch, and a liar, saying I made up stories about your precious little Riley!

“But let me tell you about your precious little Riley, even if it is just to make you listen to it from my mouth, into your face, just to watch to squirm, even though I wonder if you’ll even believe me.”

Phyllis, as Phoebe thought she would, immediately started to struggle against her hold, trying to pull free, writhing desperately to get away.

“Look at you!” Phoebe hissed, her lips inches away from her mother’s left ear, “It’s like I’m an exorcist, and you’re possessed; yet I’m the sick bitch.

“You’re the sick one in this family, Mother! You’re the only one living in complete denial of what is going on around you, as if you’re just completely oblivious… and I mean, I might have believed your whole act, if I didn’t know any better, but unfortunately I do.”

“This whole family is sick!” Phyllis spat out, her voice catching mid-sentence, as if the words were breaking her heart to say. Phoebe stared at her mother, surprised, seeing the welling up of tears in each of Phyllis’ eyes, and the area between them beginning to twitch, threatening a full breakdown.

Something inside Phoebe melted, despite herself, and she grabbed hold of her mother, wrapping her arms tightly, passionately around the woman who now seemed to be withering away, if the feel of bones were anything to go by.

The jerky sobs that escaped Phyllis along with the anguished moan of her crying were enough to melt Phoebe completely. She knew that while there was plenty that her mother could have done differently, it was pointless to bring it up, and that talking about Riley’s sins against her would get none of them anywhere; the fact that he was gone was good enough for her.

Somewhere in their moment, they had slid themselves to the ground, still embracing one another, and Hannah’s arms were added, holding them together.

It was as if all the energy was sucked up from the entire house as well as its’ inhabitants as the three of them – Phyllis, the mother, and her two daughters, Phoebe and Hannah – were huddled together, a more-than-likely first for them, but what would also be their last.