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There’s only so much privacy you get when you’re the only girl in the house. Maybe that’s why Vanessa spent so much time in her bedroom, sketching random drawings into her worn notebook or listening to vinyls from her dad’s old record player or laying on her bed trying to melt into it. Her room was her safe haven, her space to be herself where she felt she could breathe clearly.
Whenever that peace gets disturbed, the clean air is tainted, polluting her lungs and cutting off her supply of air until she can’t breathe. At least that’s what it feels like.
She had only gone downstairs for a snack, a house rule courtesy of her dad’s obsessive standards. He was particular about things like that — always wanted a clean house that was tidy and in order. No mess, no crumbs, no clutter.
A messy mind leads to a messy house.
I don’t raise children that ignore responsibility.
His words lived in every wall of the house, seeping into every room through the vents and under the cracks of the doors.
When she came back upstairs to her bedroom, she pushed the door open to see Michael inside, crouched in front of her desk and rummaging through her drawers like they were his. His back was facing the door, completely absorbed in whatever privacy invasion he was enacting. He didn’t even notice her until she spoke.
“Michael, what are you doing?” She was shocked before she was mad, figuring her fifteen year old brother would know better — he should know better, which is why it burned in her chest all the more. “Why are you in my room?”
He slowly shut the drawer he was looting through, standing up and facing her with a confused expression, like it was completely obvious why he was in her room.
“Just looking,” he said casually, like this was an everyday thing that occurred in the house.
Something about him was off. Not just the fact that he was in her room without permission, that was bad enough. But the way he looked at her, the way his head was tilted so matter-of-fact. It reminded her of their dad. He didn’t normally act this way, borrowing their father’s mannerisms like an old book from the library.
“Looking for something in my room?” She was annoyed, rightfully so, but something in her head was sounding alarms. He smiled at her, the thin line on his face not reaching his eyes.
It was almost like he practiced this, rehearsed how he would react if he was caught.
“Dad does it all the time. Just figured I’d help him out and report back what I found.” He shrugged like she was playing dumb, like she was the one acting weird. Vanessa felt her heart rate increase, her neck pulsing harder. Report back?
“You’re not Dad, Michael, that isn’t your job. Get out.”
She tried to keep her voice steady, but the unease was bleeding through. What was his issue?
It hit her then — he wanted to get caught. Wanted her to find him so he could take a chance at control, a chance to please their dad, a chance to be the favorite. The realization made her dizzy.
Instead of leaving, he strolled from her desk to her nightstand. He shook his head at the half-empty water bottle and notepad she had left from the night before, clicking his tongue in mock disapproval. He stuck his hands in his pockets before looking up at her, making his way back to the desk and then towards her.
“Dad says you’re unfocused,” he spoke lightly. “Always distracted.” His tone made her sick.
“I’m allowed to have a life. My world doesn’t revolve around him.” Her throat tightened as she spoke, confused as to where all of this was coming from. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
Why was Dad talking about her to him?
“You left your drawer open, by the way. The one with your sketches. That’s messy,” he shook his head with a sigh, some forged disappointment that didn’t suit his personality. It was almost laughable.
“You sound stupid,” she quipped. “Get out, Michael. Now.”
His eye twitched at that, clearly frustrated she wasn’t taking him seriously. He walked closer now, close enough that her personal boundary was invaded, and she fought the urge to back up.
“You know, you should take this stuff more seriously. Dad says you don’t listen, that you’re always lost in your own head.” He suddenly reached out and grabbed at her wrist, nails digging into her skin. “You need to wake up, Vanessa.”
She gasped, instinctively trying to jerk away, but his grip only grew tighter.
“Michael, cut it out. You’re scaring me,” her voice wavered. She was able to wring her hand free, and shoved him back. She was pissed more than she was actually scared. “Leave, before I get Dad.”
He laughed, actually laughed and shook his head, staring at her with disbelief.
“Oh, so now you want Dad? What about all of the other times he tries to help you?” he questioned, closing the distance between the two of them again. They were the same height, and she wondered at that moment when her little brother grew up, when he stopped being understanding and started resenting her for something she couldn’t even control. He grabbed both of her wrists this time, even tighter than before. “You don’t listen to him, so maybe you’ll listen to me.”
She struggled against his grip, her voice cracking with the effort. “Michael, let me GO!”
Their scuffle filled the room, his strained breaths determined to keep her hands still, and hers desperate and shallow as she tried to escape. Neither of them noticed when their father appeared in the doorway.
“That’s enough.”
They both turned to look at him, his hands clenched by his side and voice stern. Michael’s grip immediately loosened in shock, and Vanessa was finally able to rip her hands away, rubbing at her wrists. Michael straightened up like he’d be pulled on by strings.
“Michael,” his voice was low. “What exactly do you think you’re doing?”
Michael’s mouth hung open, clearly trying to find the words to explain himself, jaw tensed in panic.
“I- I was just-” he stuttered. “I was just helping, you always check her room, so I thought-”
“You thought wrong.” It felt like the temperature in the room dropped, like time seemed to stand still and that this moment may never end. Vanessa’s throat felt like sandpaper.
“You do not enter your sister’s room without permission,” he continued, slowly walking towards Michael. Michael knew better than to back away, so he stood still until their dad was right in front of him. “You do not touch her things, you do not go through her belongings, and you do not ever lay a hand on her.”
Michael swallowed hard, Vanessa watching as his breath quickened.
“I wasn’t- I didn’t hurt her-” he started, but William raised a hand up, silencing him immediately. He turned to Vanessa then, pointing to her wrists she was still holding, a deep shade of red developing where it stung. She wanted to hide her hands, but knew better.
“You see her hands, and expect me to believe that you weren’t hurting her?” He spat, Michael’s eyes flickering to Vanessa’s. She felt bad, despite everything. She knew how much their dad put on him, how perfect Michael tried to be, but it never seemed to be enough. Not when his focus was always on Vanessa. She was all he really cared about.
“I didn’t mean-” Michael started again, only to be cut off by the hand that tightly grabbed his shoulder, thumb digging into the base of his neck.
“You do not impersonate me,” he stated. “You do not enforce rules you don’t understand, you do not pretend you have any authority at all in this house.” Michael visibly swallowed, tears brimming his eyes. “You. Are not. Her father, I am.” He emphasized every single word so that it would stick in his head “Do you understand that?”
Michael nodded once, his eyes refusing to leave their fathers. He knew better than to break eye contact, a lesson drilled into their heads ever since they were children. Vanessa hated it.
William leaned closer then, and Vanessa felt herself holding her breath, wishing she didn’t have to watch.
“If you ever put your hands on your sister again,” he began, but he didn’t finish. He didn’t have to, the statement alone was threat enough. He let go of Michael forcefully after that, shoving him as he released his shoulder.
“Apologize.”
Michael stood there now, looking at the floor, and for the first time that evening Vanessa saw her real little brother, the awkward kid who hated to mess up and hated to hurt Vanessa. He hesitated for a second before muttering a quiet, “Sorry.”
“Louder,” their dad’s voice sounded, making the both of them flinch. He didn’t yell, but it was the first time during that moment that he raised his volume. Michael’s teary eyes met Vanessa’s, and she wanted nothing more than to look away.
“I’m sorry.”
Their dad stepped back at that, and Vanessa finally felt herself exhale.
“You will not come back into this room unless you’re invited,” he asserted. “And this will never happen again. Ever.”
Michael nodded again, Vanessa watching as a tear rolled down his cheek quietly.
“Leave.”
Michael didn’t hesitate, didn’t even look at Vanessa as he walked out of her room, and she heard the sound of his own bedroom door shutting. He would be in there the rest of the night, too ashamed to face Vanessa again.
With him gone though, her dad’s attention was now on her. Her breath hitched as he walked over to her, and she was met with a gaze of genuine concern.
“Are you okay?” he asked, voice filled with worry, something she didn’t hear often from him.
“Yeah… I’m fine,” she replied quietly. He sighed, taking off his glasses and pinching the bridge of his nose. She could tell he was unnerved, not only at Michael’s behavior but because Vanessa was a victim of it.
“Vanessa, you should have called for me. You know better than that.” His tone was clear, the carefully woven guilt curling around her tight.
You should’ve called for him.
Only he can fix your problems.
Only he can save you.
She nodded small, bottom lip pulled between her teeth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to bother you.” It wasn’t completely untrue, but she mostly didn’t call for him because she didn’t want Michael to get in trouble. She felt guilty that she didn’t handle it better, that her dad had to step in before she could fix it.
He shook his head, squatting down some so they were eye level with each other. She wanted so badly to look away.
“Vanessa, you know the rules. You always call for me if something is wrong, yes?”
The words were gentle, and in any other household, they would mean something good, something warm and loving. In this household, it meant that she was his, that only he could fix her. She felt her mouth go dry, staring at him for too long.
“I asked you a question.” His eyes hardened, his mask of concern slipping for a moment. She nodded small, her chest aching with discomfort.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I’m supposed to call for you.”
“That’s my girl.”
The praise slid over her like hot fire, and she wanted to rip her skin off. He brought his hand up to her cheek, just for a brief moment, a gesture of reassurance before taking her hands in his.
“You’re sure you’re okay? Do they hurt?” His thumbs rubbed over the red that still lingered.
“I’m okay. They don’t hurt.”
They did, but she wouldn’t tell him that. It would only make him stay for longer.
He sighed quietly, like he was deciding if he believed her, before dropping her hands gently.
“Okay.”
He reached out one last time, tucking a loose hair behind her ear. She hoped he didn’t notice her flinch.
“I love you, sweetheart. This won’t happen again, I promise.”
Her mouth twisted as she nodded, an expression that she hoped came off as grateful rather than uneasey. She knew it wouldn’t happen again. He would go into Michael’s room after this, and she knew whatever happened behind that door would ensure Michael kept himself in line.
“I love you too,” she replied, having no other choice but to say it back.
He smiled at her warmly, and for a brief moment, Vanessa could almost pretend. Pretend that she was looking at a real father, one that was safe and loving, one that cared and was genuine. She could almost pretend they were just another normal family, where love didn’t feel like a leash wrapped around her throat. It faded as soon as it appeared though. She knew that, at the core of everything, this wasn’t what a loving family was. She was something for him to fix when she was broken, a toy that only he got to play with, and Michael was simply used for spare parts.
“Get some rest. I’ll deal with Michael.” Vanessa knew he would. It wasn’t affirmation, it was a threat aimed at her brother who couldn't even hear.
He stepped back, offering her one more glance of reassurance before stepping through the door and pulling it shut behind him, leaving her in silence.
She felt her body sag as though the power of gravity had been doubled, but the tension under her skin her remained. She forced herself on top of her bed, staring up at the ceiling and letting out a deep sigh, one pent up ever since she found Michael in her room.
Her heart sank as she heard a door open and shut, knowing her dad had gone into Michael’s room, and she thought back on the way her brother was acting. It terrified her, the look in his eyes, the way a smile danced on his face, the way he grabbed her. She knew that despite what her dad was going to do to him, that this wasn’t over. All the years she had spent resisting her dad’s force, undermining his influence, refusing to be like him had only taken the attention from Michael and doubled it on her.
Her dad told her she was his favorite, never trying to hide it even around Michael. It obviously impacted him despite trying to act unbothered — the way she could feel his gaze burning into her whenever their dad praised her and not him, the way that when Vanessa would apologize for it he would only nod without looking at her.
In an effort to win him over, Michael was becoming just like him. She felt nauseous at the thought, knowing this was only the beginning, and she couldn’t stop it. She couldn’t prevent anything in that house.
She never could.