Cold Chips

Zara, in her earlier years had always loved Christmas time.

Christmas time had never loved her though.

It had always been a dismal and bleak affair for her and her mother back when they still lived with her dad. Huddling close together for warmth while waiting till the early hours of the morning for him to come home from the pub. The frigid air always seemed to freeze over the last bit of her father's heart, turning him completely monstrous.

All the merriment and joyfulness most people seemed to exude in waves during the Christmas period seemed to bypass him as he drank more than twice his usual pints and choked on the bitterness in his heart.

The last Christmas they'd ever spent with him, he'd whipped her mum with his leather belt.

He'd come stumbling through the dingy apartment door, tripping over himself and once his dark eyes settled on Zara, she knew there would be trouble.

Hatred burned in those eyes.

"Where's your mother?"

Zara, barely fifteen then trembled in her loose nightie, eyes already filled with tears.

"She's in the bathroom. Showering. She wasn't feeling too well. She's very tired and-"

Her father pushed past her, grumbling under his breath. He smelled horrible, the demon drink leaking from his pores. "Why won't she have a shower? After sleeping with over half the men on the street."

Zara stood aghast. The lies her father kept conjuring up just to have an excuse to beat up her mum always shocked her. But this one was a new low.

She heard the screams as her father dragged her mother out of the tiny bathtub, throwing her down on the stained carpet before removing his leather belt and lashing her mother, water still glistening on her skin.

Her pregnant mother.

Zara had screamed so loud, she'd choked on her own spit. That had been the first time she'd hit at her father, still screaming, all the while hoping to God that someone -a savior- would come.

No one came, their neighbors were too used to the Tomeo's nightly trysts.

After he'd sated his satanic urges, Matthew had walked out of the apartment, buckling his belt and humming Santa Claus is coming to Town loudly.

Zara tried to hug her mum but was pushed away.

"It's okay Zara. It's nothing. I was just a bit worried about the baby is all." She patted herself, her hand on her bloated belly right above a large, purplish-blue bruise. There were marks and bleeding wounds all over her pale skin but she gave a shaky smile. When she spoke again, her voice held only a slight tremor.

"I need to get myself checked out tomorrow to make sure everything's okay. But everything is gonna be because my little Zion is a brave strong boy. Yes, he is. Yes, he is." She cooed at her belly, patting it softly while covered in coated blood and tears.

The sudden flare of disgust was so strong, Zara felt light-headed for a moment.

Zara stood up, swaying a bit on her feet. "I'll go get you some clothes." Her mother didn't answer, still talking to her belly, her voice breaking every few words.

Her father hadn't closed the door and a cold draft blew steadily into the room. Zara shivered and made for the door, glancing at the clock on the way.

4:32 am

It was Christmas morning. She bit her bottom lip.

"Please fall down a gutter and break your neck. Please." Zara whispered these words into the dark hallway, wishing so hard, a vein throbbed in her forehead.

Zara closed the door.

This first Christmas spent with Patrick was going to be completely different, starting with the fact no one had to cower in fear when they heard the door open. She didn't expect anything.

She certainly didn't expect the letter she got from Resha.

Patrick came home seven on the dot as usual, one crisp winter evening. Christmas was only a couple of days away and her mother was constantly jittery with excitement, her legs seemed fitted with springs.

"What's this?" Zara asked when he pushed the letter across the table to her. They were having dinner, fried potatoes and stew.

"A man came into the factory today and asked for me. Apparently, his daughter is friends with you and gave him a letter to pass to you."

"Careful, it could be a bomb," Greta joked, eyes shining with mirth as she shoveled down her food.

Zara on the other hand was still in the picking at her food stage, trying to work up an appetite to avoid her mum getting huffy with her. She had begun complaining of how skinny she looked and it irked Zara to no end. All hope for eating was lost though immediately she ripped open the letter and stared at the bottom, mouth falling open.

Love Resha.

Resha had written her a letter. Her best friend Resha. The girl she'd always admired. Beautiful, black, bold Resha. They'd been friends since primary school up to the middle of secondary. 

Even after her father had stopped her from going to school to avoid people asking questions about her bruises and bumps, Resha still met up with her at their secret spot. She had tried to visit a couple of times but got the hints quickly enough.

Zara had never told her she was going away, the circumstances surrounding it too shameful for her to say.

Resha had still tracked her down and sent a letter.

She still wanted to be friends with her? Beautiful, perfect Resha? Zara's chest seemed to get tighter as she began reading the letter.

Dear Zara,

I owe you seventeen hard knocks! One for every night I went to bed crying over you. You couldn't tell me? Seriously? After everything we've been through, I thought I at least deserved to know when my best friend was going to up and move out of my life forever.

Remember that time we went down to the talms river in the middle of the night and splashed around before eating cold chips and falling asleep under the stars? My parents gave me heck the next day but now I'm more sensitive, I'm scared to think what happened to you. I just keep thinking about you even though it's been almost a year. 

You might be surprised to find out I'm almost as antisocial as you. I know, very hard to believe but since the day I found out you'd gone, it's as though my very life has been on pause. Nothing excites me anymore. 

I've more or less settled down but I wonder if it's the same for you. I know you Zara. You keep EVERYTHING inside. That. Shii. Is. Unhealthy. And you'll snap one day. I'm worried about you and I miss you. Freaking so. Can you visit? Just for a few days? Weeks? Months? Move in with my family so we can be together? Jk jk. Lol.....unless?

Let's start with a week first though. If you want to, just write to me and pass it on to Patrick to give to my dad. They're kinda chums now. Even if you don't wanna, still write. I wish you had a phone. I'd give anything to hear your voice every day like before.

I miss you. I miss us. Merry Christmas in advance.

 Love Resha.

P.S how are the dreams?

Zara squeezed her eyes shut, mouth pressed tightly together. The excitement building up in her finally overlapped and spilled over causing her to release a loud shriek.

Both her mum and Patrick jumped, caught completely unaware as they had been gazing into each other's eyes. Her mum's plate was still packed. She must have gotten a second portion.

"What on earth?" Patrick said.

"Sweetie?" Greta frowned.

"Resha. It's Resha. She - she wrote the letter. She misses me and wants me to come visit. She misses me a whole lot almost as much as I MISS HER." Zara positively gabbled this, eyes glazed over and heart thudding as though she was running a marathon. 

She was in her mind though, her thoughts were going a million miles per second. She had all but given up hope that Resha would even WANT to still talk to her after how she'd run away leaving her in the dark.

Zara could see Resha now in her mind's eye. Her gaze was that special shade of dark brown behind her rectangular glasses as she stared at her and laughed at her jokes and - and made Zara forget the terror that awaited her at home.

Resha had always made her forget.

Her heart fluttered anxiously and she picked up a forkful of potatoe and swallowed it after two bites to try and quell her insides.

Zara sniffed once, smile big on her face. She didn't remember the last time she'd grinned and it felt weird but also right. She grinned wider. She was happy.

Patrick smiled back at her, genuinely excited. "I'm glad this cheered you up our Zara. She seems a very nice girl."

Zara was so ecstatic, she didn't even get angry as usual over the fact he called her 'our Zara.'

"She is," she sang.

"When do you want to go? I can take you in my truck. How long will you spend?"

"A week. Maybe more. Gosh, I'm so happy."

Patrick nodded his head and reached across the table to pat Zara on the shoulder, his hand warm.

"You deserve this."

Zara beamed up at him. Maybe Patrick wasn't so bad. Maybe she could more than barely tolerate him. Maybe-

Her eyes slid past him and over to her mother.

Greta was shaking her head.

It wasn't so much the shaking of her head but the look on her face while she did it that made Zara feel the start of an unspeakable horror was about to begin. It was an ugly expression. A you-talk-the-most-absolute-poop-sometimes expression. 

Disdainful. That was the word.

Zara felt an ice prick her heart.

Her mother's voice was tight. "Sorry sweetie but you're not going anywhere."