How to Secretly Protect your Village: Excerpt 11

Tears stream down my face. A throbbing pain that feels like the almost burning warmth of getting too close to a flame races through my veins, and involuntarily, I recoil inwards, wincing and sobbing softly, my chest heaves with the tightness of having concrete hardening in my ribs.

I learned that it’s the same feeling you get when you repress your magic for a very long time and don’t let it naturally settle down. Those who are at peace with all parts of their magic and the way it resonates inside of their bodies never get this pain.

I feel Dusk’s presence in my mind. I close my eyes, and I feel his hand enclose around mine.

Don’t worry. He whispers. You’re safe with me, dear one.

The softness of his voice, even at a whisper, is enough to keep me grounded. 

Take this slowly, Storm.

I see another memory from 2 weeks ago. I’m sitting in a room located outside the principal’s office in school.

I hear two voices. My mother, and the principal. Both dripping with disappointment. I fudged up big time, but it was only because I was trying to keep myself safe.

The sad thing is, it all gets mistaken for something I caused, when in reality, it was the kids tormenting me. They wanted to blame me. They got what they wanted. If I have to drag my butt to school again next week, they’ll get what’s coming to them.

Then, I hear the words I’ve heard many times, and I dread hearing them again. They sting like someone pressing the serrated end of a red hot knife against the soft part near my collarbone. They thought I’d learn. They thought I’d color my hair. They thought I’d give in and “be good” like every kid in that class.

Instead, the words hurt even more.

Your daughter has an attitude problem.

And I remember them both staring at me, waiting for an answer. I remember running as fast as I could.

All I wanted was to be alone.

To avoid the angry voices calling after me. 

I remember running all the way to Ariadne’s house without stopping.

I remember the angry text from my mom.

What do you have to say for yourself, thinking you can run away from us like that? Are you trying to think you can get away with this?

No. I’m scared. I’m tired. I just want this to end and for everyone to leave me alone.

Even after Mom tried to talk to me, Dad said that it was no use and it would just make things between us worse.

He was probably right.

Then suddenly I start crying out of nowhere. I remember the fights that broke out over which kid gave me the “haircut treatment.”

I remember suffering a panic attack in the middle of lunch, running for the hills, and burning myself a ditch outside of school grounds, and hiding in there until the end of lunch bell rang.

I remember them all screaming “Hey where’s the little red headed hairball? Where is it, where is it? We wanna cut its hair!”

And I remember someone grabbing me by the wrist, I scream instinctively, thinking it was someone with a pair of scissors, when in reality, it was a kid with short messy hair dyed blonde, black track pants, and a loose shirt showing a sliver of what appears to be a binder, judging by the characteristic beige color they sometimes came in.

He helped me up, and then he hugged me, wiping the tears I shed.

And when he started talking to me, he treated me as a person. Not as a virus that’ll be passed on.

And his name was Ariadne Goldwin. And that’s when we became inseparable. That little rose faced kid who helped me get back up again is the pillar preventing me from teetering over the edge.

He is my greatest love, but also my greatest sorrow, because to him, the pain I feel hurts him too.

I open my eyes, and see Dusk’s deep gold ones looking straight at me.

Even though we’ve only physically seen each other for barely two hours, he knows my story. He’s seen so much of what I went through in a short time.

“So that’s what you’ve been seeing over the years.” He says softly. “Pobrecito Storm. I’m so sorry you had to live through that. You’re so young, but you’ve been worn down so much.”

“Yeah.” I say shakily. “Here’s to hoping I can face it head on. With you guys.”

Another 30 minutes passes, and we reach my house, where Mom and Crystal are the first two people I see looking out the front window. When I enter the house, Dusk trails behind me. I take his hand and he squeezes it reassuringly.

“Storm, where have you been?” Mom asks, sighing. “And why do you have an old man and some random kid with you?”

“I’m Andromeda. I’m not random. And my dad ain’t just any old guy. He’s a guardian.”

“A guardian!” Crystal says, laughing softly. “That old coot is a guardian! Wow good one!”

Dusk shoots Crystal a stern glance, walks up to introduce himself. “Hello. I’ve heard some things about you and Crystal and Astra from Storm. It’s quite…nice to meet you both.” He says cordially.

“Oh…you too, come in.” Mom says nervously. “Aren’t you the guy from those history books Storm reads?”

“Yeah. Although some of the photos they use aren’t always accurate because some of them are from a very long time ago. I’m a historian, but the good thing is that I have recently updated some of the pictures they have of me in recently published ones, so that’s one upside.”

We walk into the house, and the four of us take a seat on the couch, and I sidle up next to Dusk, and lean my head towards his shoulders.

He leans down slightly and gently kisses my forehead.

A small gasp escapes my lips, almost instinctively.

I realize my family doesn’t show that much physical affection towards me or my younger sister. I see the pattern now. Astra and Crystal were always more doted on, while when I was old enough, most of the responsibilities for Opal were foisted onto me. 

When Astra and Crystal got in trouble, my two perfect golden brown haired sisters were only let off with a warning, while if I accidentally did something I wasn’t supposed to, or accidentally didn’t do something, both my Mom and sisters wouldn’t let me hear the end of it. The guilt hurt so much that when I could sneak them, I’d lock myself in my room, chug energy drinks, forget the rest of the day, sleep for the next 20 hours, gorge myself on canned goods, and emerge as a blanked out, temporarily changed person, using these habits to cover up the massive guilt and anger I felt towards myself for everything. Everyone thought I had composed myself and that I was just being “dramatic”, but in the end, I was just band-aiding my problems.

Dad tried to lighten the burden. He cared about me. Ultimately Mom told him Opal and I “wouldn’t be able to fend for ourselves” if he didn’t let us “figure things out.” In reality, she was just trying to find excuses to avoid making a mistake and taking the blame for raising children who she loved, but not as much as she should have, seeing us both as accidents that happened after she had us, viewed by the world as nothing more than bad luck charms. She thought we’d both take it and be on our way, but in the end, the weight is crumbling both of us from the inside.

She clearly loves us, but it doesn’t feel right at all.

So now why do I feel like she isn’t doing anything? Why do I feel alone in all this?