Nia - Soft (E5)

She has debated ripping this newspaper to shreds. The eyes of her mother seem to mock her. Laughing at her for the power she still holds over her all these years later.

Nia wishes she were stronger. She wishes the coldness she’s able to show the world would penetrate deep within her heart and ice out the memory of her mother forever. Why does she deserve her thoughts?

Nia’s arms hurt from holding up that newspaper above her sprawled body on the bed. She traces her mother’s name with her finger. It’s not a loving caress. More like an examination. Perhaps if she touches those black letters enough, her mother will reach out from the pages of this yellowed old newspaper and tell her all her secrets.

She hears the heavy footsteps of her father and barely manages to hide the newspaper underneath her pillow before he comes in. She feels a flare of irritation pass by her face; he can never knock.

Her father gently closes the door behind him and walks towards the bed. His clasped hands displaying a thick gold band he wears with the Mir family sigil. She has one herself, long, thrown into the back of the drawer on her nightstand, collecting dust.

She sits up and straightens her dress. “Yes, father?”

Amir looks at her. His cold, dark eyes penetrating her face. A strange thought appears in her mind: can he read what I’m thinking? When she was younger, she did believe he could. He always knew everything. Every subpar grade she got, every swimming competition in which she didn’t place first and every interaction she had outside the confines of her home. It was jarring.

His eyes didn’t leave her face, and she suddenly felt like her mouth was dry. She felt as if he would strike if she moved. Her father was a difficult man; sometimes she did fear him. But it was fused with admiration and gratitude.

“Tell me what those children were doing here,” he demands.

The lie slipped from her tongue before she could stop it. “We have a group project together. They were here to polish the details.”

He arches an eyebrow, “really? For what class?”

She tries not to let any hint of agitation show on her face. She does despise lying directly. “We have to do a presentation on Dante’s Inferno for English.”

His expression doesn’t change, “you took your required English course in the summer.”

She pressed her teeth together.

“I don’t like being lied to, Nia. And to think, you, my daughter, could fool me is an arrogance you haven’t earned,” he states coolly.

Nia suppress the urge to twirl her fingers around her locks. Her cheeks feel warm with shame. Amir slowly sat on the edge of her bed and did not alleviate her of the visual assault her was giving her.

“You think you’re smart? That you and Imre Duran know all? You’re adolescents without a single idea of how much bigger this is than you and your wishful fantasies,” Amir continues, a look of judgment in his eyes.

She feels the edge of the newspaper by her palm and leans back, the crinkle of the paper makes her want to freeze. But her father’s attention hasn’t wavered from her scolding.

“I don’t know anything, Father. Whatever—” she pinches the bridge of her nose, “I don’t care about what’s going on. I just want to continue our university plans. Imre, Birdie and Lorcan can get into trouble for all I care.”

His eyebrow lowers, his eyes move around her face. “You still use that dreadful nickname. How am I supposed to trust the extent of your involvement with this matter if you still seem so fond of ‘Birdie,’” he says with a sneer.

She looks down at her hands, running her thumb over her nails. “If they want to kill themself, that’s their problem. I’m not their keeper anymore and there is no one in the world that will look out for me except for you.”

She feels the bed shift and almost flinches when her father gently caresses her hair. “I don’t like being harsh with you, azizam. But the mayor is a dangerous man. He has placed all his ambitions for our final try and I can’t let a group of children meddle with it.”

What if the children are more important to this thing than the grownups? she thinks, but she dares not voice it. Nor does she wish it to be true. She let her father caress her face, she gently puts her hand atop his and looks up.

His stare is still impenetrable but she senses the immediate storm has passed. She doesn’t know what he’d do if he knew of the newspaper currently burning a hole on her ass. Ugh, horrible metaphor.

He lets her go and stands. “For your sake, Nia, I hope you don’t get dazzled into this. Your heart is far too trusting and soft toward those around you, whether you admit it or not. Emotions have no place in future doctors.”

He leaves her, shutting the door softly. Nia pulls out the newspaper and lies back down. She begins tracing the name again. She can’t see it yet. It would make her mother too real. She would betray her father. She already is by keeping this and entertaining the idea of saying ‘yes’ to the noname brand Scooby gang.

She sits up and crumples the newspaper into a little ball. She reaches for her trashcan and throws it in. She pulls on her drawer and takes out some matches. She lights one and dangles it over the flammable contents of the trash.

“Throw it,” she orders herself. But her hand isn’t commanded by her brain, and she waits too long. She swears as the flame burns her, and quickly blows on it. She takes out the newspaper, throws the burnt match in and cautiously smooths out the paper. She presses it to her chest and focuses her might on not crying.

Don’t you dare.

She sighs. Soft.