Afterwards - Part III

I had been cooped up in the underground-ish cage my grandfather had built during the Cold War for almost a year, which, at that point seemed like a long time. I had always thought it was unfair that my aunt and cousins had inherited most of the money and all we got was the stupid bunker, but it turned out to be far more advantageous in the long run. I was more restless than ever and bored to tears, so when my dad went out to scavenge for supplies, I decided a quick trip outside couldn’t hurt anyone. I waited about ten minutes to be sure he didn’t forget something and come back. Then I opened the door. I remember thinking the feeling of the sun on my face that day was the most wonderful feeling in the world. I followed the creek that ran down the side of our hideout and into town so I wouldn’t get lost in the woods. I picked flowers while I searched for a good tree to climb, and splashed my feet in the water.

I hadn’t been outside twenty minutes before I found out why my father would never take me with him on outings. There was a man, blond, thin, and not very tall, sitting at the base of a tree next to the creek. He was crying. I was stupid.

“Sir? What’s the matter?” I had asked him, unsure and unknowing. He looked at me, with red eyes that seemed to shine with relief.

“I’m so hungry.” He said with a raspy voice, “and so cold.” He made me sad, I wanted to help.

“Come with me, I have food.” I was so, so stupid.

He came with me back to our shelter. I gave him some bread and jam and a blanket and he ate quickly and said thank you a lot. I was feeling really good about myself and about what I had done to help this poor lonely man. I was too young, too naive and I didn’t understand what a poor lonely man was capable of when he had nothing left to lose. When I told him it was time for him to leave, I found out.

“Oh no, you’ve been so lovely, I really think I’d like to stay.” The man said to me looking around the shabby little kitchen with greed in his light brown eyes.

“I’m very sorry sir, but my father will be very angry with me if you’re here when he returns, you see I’m not allowed outside and we’re supposed to be very careful about saving food…” but he was shaking his head slowly.

“Your father will not mind, and if he does, I will kill him.” I hoped he was joking. He got up from the table, and came slowly over to where I was standing in the doorway. “You are such a kind girl, such a pretty girl. How can I thank you?” He reached out, pushing my hair behind my ear, trailing his rough, dirty thumb across my cheekbone with a tenderness that told me the gesture was familiar. I pulled away, feeling obviously uneasy.

“Please sir,” I said, “You really need to go now.”

“First I am going to thank you for what you’ve done for me.” He leaned down to kiss me. I saw the insanity in his eyes for the first time when I pulled away.

I tried to run away, but he was too close to get away from easily. He grabbed my waist as I turned and pulled my back up against his body and held my budding breast with one hand as the other worked on undoing his pants. I screamed and threw my head back into his face. His grip loosened and I broke free, running into the kitchen to the drawer where we kept the knives. I yanked it open so hard it fell onto the floor and I stooped to grab the biggest knife in the drawer just as he barreled into me. I was knocked to the ground and the knife grazed my side as I fell onto it, which was pretty lucky considering. He was fully on top of me and flipped me over when I tried to thrust the knife up to his neck, but he was much stronger and grabbed my wrist.

“Now see that’s not very nice.” He said grinning sickly. He twisted my wrist around as far as it would go, but I held on, so he twisted it farther until a painful pop caused me to drop my weapon. He slammed my arm onto the ground and picked up the knife himself, holding the tip of it underneath my chin. “I’m only trying to show my gratitude! Now be a good little bitch and hold still.” He was working on my belt when the gun went off.

I’ll never forget his eyes. Wide and insane, and utterly empty, they stared directly into mine as blood poured from the hole in his forehead. The knife nicked my chin just hard enough to draw blood and he fell over. I was still stuck under him and too scared to move. My dad calmly strode over with an expression that was impossible to read, as per usual, and rolled the crazy man off of me. I just stayed where I was and watched him take him out of the room. I heard the door open and shut and sat up, leaning against the lower cabinets, and pulled my knees up to my chest. I noticed my waist bleeding quite a bit, and tried to breathe deeply to fight off the sickness, but my breath was coming in short, shaky gasps. I hadn’t realized I was crying, and hysterically.

My father returned, and still without saying a word, gathered me into his arms. I wrapped my arms around his neck and sobbed into his shoulder. He carried me into my room and sat down on my bed, and held me, rocking slowly forward and back until I had calmed down. When my breathing was normal, he left me on my bed and went to get our first aid supplies. He put a simple Band-Aid on my chin, and then dabbed some numbing ointment on my side before setting to stitch it up. Despite the ointment, it was incredibly painful, and the tugging feeling turned my stomach. He actually had to stop three times so I could run to the toilet to throw up.

When everything was done he silently left me in my room. I could smell the chicken noodle soup he always made for me when I wasn’t feeling well. I was exhausted but couldn’t sleep.

“Dinner is ready.” He called from the kitchen, as if it were any normal day. I slowly made my way to the table.

He waited until I was halfway through my bowl of soup before he said exactly what I had been waiting to hear.

“What the hell were you thinking Em?” His head was in his hands when I looked up at him.

“I was bored by myself, so I went outside.” I said, ashamed.

“I’m not happy about that, but I understand it.” He lifted his head up and I could see his deep brown eyes. I was shocked to find more fear than anger in them. “What I don’t understand is why you brought a stranger into our home.” He looked older than I had ever seen him, and older than he would ever look again.

“He said he was hungry.” I whispered looking back into my bowl, my eyes welling up with fresh tears. I flinched slightly as he reached out to pull my head into his chest. I think he was crying a little too.

“Sweetheart,” He said, “A year or so ago, assuming I or your mother was home, I might have been proud of you for being so sweet.” I thought I heard a smile. “But you need to be so, so much more careful now. Desperate people are unpredictable, and the world is full to bursting with desperate people.” He let me go, but I wouldn’t look at his eyes, I felt too stupid. I returned to my chicken noodle soup. “Promise me sweetie, you’ll never go outside again, at least not without me.”

“Okay Daddy,” I said without looking up.

“Okay what?” He said.

I smiled, “I promise.”

And I kept my promise, for nearly ten years, until about a month ago, when he’d been gone longer than two weeks, and I had no more choice.