. . .
Date: August, 1995
Location: New York, America
. . .
Li-Am gently guides Leigh Anne out from her bedroom and straight to the bathroom that was just down the hall where he mechanically begins the process of sanitizing his daughter’s cuts without a word.
Then, after making sure that her wounds wouldn’t be infected now and were dried properly enough, he placed a generous amount of antibacterial wash to ease some of the pain before gently wrapping her injured arm up with bandages, deciding to put some gauze on a particularly nasty cut on her wrist at the end.
Leigh Anne was uncharacteristically quiet throughout the entire ordeal, not even bothering to say something–an excuse, to defend herself or tell her father why she did it, maybe even an apology, anything.
But there was nothing.
And her silence unnerves him more than he cared to admit. Because Leigh Anne has always been quite a talkative child, has always had something to say to him or just about anything.
“Leigh Anne,” he finally manages to say when the suffocating silence threatens to go longer, a bit grateful that his voice still manages to come across as calm, a calm that he wasn’t really feeling right now, “Be honest. Did… did something happen at school? Are you being bullied? Is someone making you do this?”
For a moment, his daughter only gives him a blank look, as though she doesn’t get what he is talking about… but a beat after, understanding flickered on her face, “Huh–? Oh, no, Dad. I did it.”
What…?
Li-Am gawked at her, suddenly feeling like the point just flew right over his head, “E-Excuse me? Leigh Anne, what are you talking about–?!”
Her voice went flat, dead serious:
“It was me, Dad. I am cutting myself.”
He didn’t remember leaning on the wall.
But the next thing, Li-Am knows there was now the feeling of the cold and damp sink pressing firmly over on his side, settling deep within his bones despite the warm rays of the afternoon sun glinting over the window, the edge of the still-damp faucet now digging painfully by his hip bone as he continued to stare and stare almost helplessly at his daughter’s dark eyes.
The remaining bandages pooled messily by their feet, dropping unceremoniously from shaking hands that suddenly felt too numb, too weak to hold on to something… anything.
His voice came out as a weak whisper, “Why…?”
Why are you cutting yourself?
Why were you hurting yourself?!
And those eyes that looked a lot like her mother’s were sad for a passing moment, as though Leigh Anne had actually heard, had understood what the single uttered word entailed, packed with so many unspoken questions.
His daughter’s usually lively voice, when she finally answered, strangely comes out as a faint whisper, like she didn’t really want anyone else to hear outside these cramped walls what she had to say: “I don’t… I don’t know. I just wanted to have a reminder, I guess. I w-wanted… I wanted to prove myself that at the very least, I still have control over something in my life.”
The feeling of something like loss, like a fish being plucked right out of a stream intensified even more. And Li-Am can feel tears prickling at the corner of his eyes, “I… I don’t understand…”
There was a twinge of frustration then, an angry sort of helplessness and something a lot like fear flickering across her face, “Look Dad, I’m sorry, okay? It’s just… there are days I feel like I’m not even here! That I’m not myself anymore.”
* * * * *
One night, Li-Am gingerly opens his eyes at the sound of his daughter’s persistent knocking. But to be honest, when he ‘woke up’, he was actually still halfway into dreamland as he somehow found himself blearily making his way to the door, feeling too much like a zombie as he did so–and no kidding, it was barely 2 in the morning.
What is Lei-Lei up to now?
He opens the door.
…And stared.
Because did you know?
Sometimes, a parent doesn’t really have to know the details to know what the hell is going on right now with your kid.
You just know.
Because sometimes, instincts are more than enough–they would fill you in and would kick you right into working order…
So, when Li-Am sees, immediately comprehends the fact that yes, there are stark, black rings bruised underneath Leigh Anne’s eyelids, her face a ghastly white with tears still dripping down her cheeks–he decides, fuck this, the gloves are most certainly off the table.
Because his daughter’s hands were shaking so badly despite how hard she fumbles with her fingers, clutching at the ends of her nightshirt to keep them still while her mouth opens and closes once, twice–and yet no words came out, only harsh breaths like she was choking, like she was drowning.
And any thoughts of getting back to sleep flew right out of the window as Li-Am hurriedly gathers his only child close to him, checking her over for any injuries as he did so then, he checked the hallway for any signs of an intruder or anything amiss (and thankfully finding none) before he gently sits his daughter down to the bed and soothingly rubs her back till her harsh breathing turns better but still too shaky for comfort…
“Hey, what’s wrong?” Li-Am finally dares to ask when she still says nothing, willing to keep the panic out of his voice, trying to calm down her from what seemed to be a panic attack, “Did you have a nightmare? Lei-Lei, what happened?”
Biting her lip, she only shook her head.
“…please, just talk to me, kid. I’m worried about you,” Li-Am continues, his heart feeling like it was being clenched and then pureed into a pulp, “You know that, right? You can always tell me if something’s bothering you, I swear I won’t judge. We’ll figure something out–”
“No, Dad,” there was a smile, tired and kind of self-deprecating. It becomes faintly visible on Leigh Anne’s lips in the dim light of the moon streaking across the curtains, “…you can’t.”
Frowning, feeling suddenly apprehensive and the slightest bit of afraid for her sake, Li-Am sits next to Leigh Anne this time and doesn’t quite react immediately when he realizes that his daughter had started to cry all over again, the type of crying that does not make any sort of sound as she buries her face in her hands.
“…pathetic,”
Her shoulders seized at that, as if stung.
(The hair on the back of Li-Am’s neck rises.
The feeling of something like danger was blaring loudly at him there and then even as he holds his daughter tight to him when she begins to sob.)
And Li-Am tried so hard to take no notice of the voice that had been her’s-but-not. They both allowed the sudden, unwanted sound to wash over them like a wave, an ocean of white noise that wasn’t supposed to exist, one that they didn’t want to acknowledge–at all.
…Even if it was drowning them both.
Because they both know now it’s still there.
* * * * *
…Still waters run deep.
It’s an idiom, one that means a calm or quiet demeanor often conceals a more passionate, interesting or complicated nature.
Or to put it simply, there’s a lot more happening than what you see on the surface. Something else is going on behind the scenes… and the person is far more complex than they present themselves to be.
Li-Am couldn’t quite think of a fitting phrase.