Secrets in the Deep

The salty breeze caressed my face like a mother’s touch with the sting of icy droplets like a slap to the face. I pulled my navy threadbare sweater closer around my body and shivered. The morning’s light of October was breaking over the waves of dark water coming in. The pocketknife in my hand glinted with the rays of the far away sun. I twisted the knife against the smooth rock I was sitting on, the ivory handle turning in circles between my fingertips. I sipped my warm coffee and stopped the spinning. The cold started to not bother me and I loosened my hold on the thin piece of knitted yarn. The waves rolled and tumbled, in almost a playful manner, then collided against the rocks into the icy surf that burned my face. I slowly stood up, entranced by the melodic rhythm of the dark and ominous water splashing against the steel gray rock I was standing on.
I stepped closer, my toes grasping for a hole to dig into, to keep my unbalanced body on mostly dry land. I bent down, inching closer to the opaque surface and squinted, trying to decipher the object lying underneath. Its watery mouth opened and closed like a gaping fish and the ripples faded into a perfect picture. My father stared back at me, his blank eyes watching me with his cold glare. His light brown Carhartt jacket was splattered with blood-his blood. His mouth was in a hard line, which morphed into a frown that sent wrinkles sprawling across his face.
“I’m so sorry, Daddy.” I dragged in a shaky breath and whispered, “I didn’t mean to.” The memories resurfaced as he curled his calloused finger, beckoning me to come closer. I slipped; the last wave that rolled in had left a calling card of seaweed, positioned perfectly in front of my bare foot. I was airborne for a few precious moments before the force of gravity dragged me underwater.
“Come for a ride, Lily. Come sit down next to your ol’ Pop.”
“It’s Lilith, I’m fifteen now and Lily’s such a young name. I don’t want to go, Daddy. I wanna stay here.”
Pain laced through my arm and his rank breath was hot against my ear. “Get in the boat, darlin’. Ya don’t want to make a scene for all of Rhode Island to hear, do ya?” I went with him, against my will of course, but I still slightly gave into him. But he didn’t know. He didn’t know that I wouldn’t put up with his beatings for much longer.
I sputtered for air when I pushed myself to the surface. The water beat me against the rock, pulling and shoving, until I was pulled under again. I opened my eyes in the cold water and saw my father again. He was brandishing my knife, the blade glinting against the small amount of light leaking from the surface. Oh Daddy.
We got out into deeper water and Daddy stalled the engine, letting it die off, not even trying to save it. “What are you doing, Daddy?” I asked him as he opened a cabinet under the captain’s seat. He removed a large paddle, the size of a dinner plate and stepped closer to my trembling body. He grinned, slicing the air with a quick flick of his wrist. The paddle came down, slapping against my bicep. The skin reddened, then started to bruise within a few seconds. I bit my lip, grunting when he brought the paddle down again. He pulled his arm back and started to laugh, the drunken laugh that I had heard many nights throughout my childhood. I reached underneath my violet sweater and pulled out my cherished object. The blade caught against my skin when I removed it from my belt. I gripped it harder behind my back and waited for my father to get closer.
He stepped into my trap, inching closer to take another swing at me. I ducked and lunged at his chest, heaving my knife into his gut. He stared at me in astonishment and fell against the side of the boat with the force that I had thrown myself at him with. I pulled the knife out and struck again. All the pain that he had made me feel, all those times he came home from the meat factory and beat me within an inch of my life, I was giving it all back to him in one dose. I stabbed and twisted the blade, creating large holes in his torso. His eyes had gone blank but still I didn’t stop.
I stepped back, breathing hard to look at my handiwork. Blood pooled around his lower half and he looked asleep, the blood dripping out of his mouth gave away his condition. He sickened me, how he looked at me with the remains of his smile still glued on his disgusting face. I couldn’t look at him any longer. I grabbed at his denim-clad legs and folded them over the side of the boat. Then I only had to heave his lower torso over the side. I pushed his dead weight up and over the starboard side, having to rest him at the top to catch my breath. With a small shove he was airborne and dropped into the water, dead as a doornail in the deep. I drove off, the wakes of Daddy’s Little Princess making my father bob like an apple, all alone in the unforgiving waters of the Atlantic.
I pulled myself out of the water, my sweater stuck to me like a second skin. I peeled it away and walked into the small cottage. The navy mess dropped into the hamper as I passed into the bathroom. I changed outfits quickly, switching out my soaked yoga pants for my worn down jeans. I watched myself in the mirror as I slowly pushed a brush through my hair. My green eyes were bright and vibrant and I leaned closer to see the small flecks of brown that distinguished my eyes from my father’s. He had changed my life, leaving me lying in the shadows, warily watching the horizon for him to come back. He had said that I’d never get rid of him, that he’d always find me. And now he had.
I could smell his old leather scent on my skin, it sent me back to the early years, when he wasn’t drunk every day. He used to pick me up, flopping me over his shoulder and acting like a caveman while we walked down to the dock. He was nice, a tall bearded man with a deep laugh and a way of filling up a room when he entered. He was loved by the whole town and was the go-to guy if something needed fixing. He was a better handyman than a father. And no one noticed.
They never noticed the firm grip he had on my shoulder, keeping me in place next to him. They avoided the bruises that lined my shins in the summer and quickly glanced away when I showed up at community events with a split lip or black eye. They were so stuck in their ways that they didn’t want to believe it, so it went unacknowledged for eight years. Eight long years of pain and suffering caused the scars that ran across my body. He had personally left his last mark the day before I sent him into the deep. A long scar tore my face in half, ripping apart my lips and traveling over the bridge of my nose into my hairline. It was a barrier, a bar keeping me from getting to close to another person who could harm me. Every time I looked in the mirror I remembered what he had done to keep me close to him. And what I had done to stop him.