Doomed Lyrics

Click.

“You have a prepaid call. You will not be charged for this call. This call is from an inmate at a Federal Prison. This call is being recorded, and is subject to monitoring. Please hang up to decline the call, or to accept, dial 5 now.”

I took a deep breath and did neither. Instead, I listened to the woman finish her message, kicking my legs anxiously as I looked around my bedroom. I slept here every night, but when I was on the phone with him, nothing looked familiar.

She started over. “You have a prepaid call—…”

Her voice weighed like plastic to me, fake as it was. It didn’t belong there; it was all wrong. Like a song with an upbeat tune, but doomed lyrics.

I shifted the phone absentmindedly, my fingers instinctively tracing the patch of scarred, misshapen skin on my palm as I uneasily waited for the message to come back around. Though I would’ve been content with blindly listening to cheer that didn’t exist—or even hanging up altogether—I knew deep down that he was waiting for me to press 5. He was waiting for me to accept his call. And hell, I could’ve done it already. I could’ve interrupted this woman and stopped her midsentence, but I was too polite for that. Too scared for that.

Eventually, though, I gathered my courage, and pressed the button. The line collapsed into faint static for a few, gut-wrenching seconds before finally tuning me in.

“Hi, dad.”

“Hey, baby!” rumbled his voice through the phone. He couldn’t fool me, though. Even in a whole other state, I could sense his weariness on the other side. “How are you?”

“I’m good,” I replied, standing up almost mechanically from my bed. I could never talk on the phone standing still, these days. It was all reflex. “And how are you?”

“I’m alright,” he said, expectedly. The word ‘considering’ was implied in his tone.

Click.

''The bathroom door closed quietly, and I couldn’t help but hear it as I sat on the foot of the bed. The sound was minuscule, but it still made me flinch.''

''I’d been busy looking around until then. The room was such a foreign place, one that I’d only ever seen over the course of the last few days. It was too pristine to be home; too impersonal, really. One of many across the coast. But hotels like this were all we’d seen from him since the divorce.''

''I heard my siblings laugh in the next room, accompanied by a cheesy laugh track from the television. But the sounds were suddenly muffled in my head, like my ears were stuffed with cotton. All I could look at now was the bathroom door that had just shut before me. I had a sinking feeling in my stomach, like a rock settling at the bottom of a shallow pond.''

''‘I’m tired tonight,’ I thought. ‘All I want is to go to sleep.’''

He maintained the conversational back-and-forth.

“How are you doing in school?” Good.

“How are all your friends?” Good.

“What’ve you been doing since we last talked?” Nothing.

“Do you have a boyfriend yet?” No.

Truly, I wasn’t expecting much on his end; I never was. There wasn’t all too much you could do when you were only allowed so many places. The biggest news he had was that he’d just installed a new music album for himself. Apparently, he was spending his time exercising—something he’d hardly ever done in the time I’d known him—and playing it on repeat.

repeat.

I was sure there were plenty of things on repeat for him there, but I didn’t say so. I only laughed half-heartedly at his off-key renditions, and promised to look up the songs later, even though I knew I’d forget. Just like I’d forgotten to send him the family pictures from Halloween, and Thanksgiving, and Christmas, and New Year’s Day.

I promised him I’d do those things, too, just like I had every month since.

''I crept up to the bathroom door with the caution of a small girl approaching a sleeping, starving bear. It loomed before my small body, strong and entirely unfamiliar. I didn’t have permission to move it, and it would never let me on its own.''

It took me a few minutes simply to wrestle with my anxiety, but eventually, I called out hesitantly.

''“Dad…? Are you in there?”''

''There was no answer. As if I had expected one.''

''I counted the voices in the next room, just to be safe. My little brother and sister could be heard quite clearly, and the others I could attribute to the television only. Everyone was accounted for, except for him. He was the only one it could be.''

Steeling myself, I took another deep breath and tried again.

''“Dad?” I asked, raising my voice just slightly more than before. “You’re—… You’re not praying again, are you?”''

Still, there was silence.

The cotton-muffled noises of happiness in the next room seemed so far away to me now.

I busied myself with flipping absentmindedly through a couple of old books that had already served their purpose as my father carried on explaining his Valentine’s Day plans.

“… and they’re going to have an actual meal in the cafeteria. Honestly, any food they have will be better than the normal stuff,” he chuckled. “But hey, at least it’ll probably be my last one.”

“Wait, what?” I choked, nearly dropping the book in shock. If I wasn’t paying attention before, I was certainly paying attention now. “What do you mean?”

“Didn’t your mom tell you?” my father asked after a short pause, sounding a bit confused. “I’m getting out next year. Hopefully sometime between June and September.”

''“Dad?” I asked desperately, leaning in now, closer to the door. “Did you hear me?”''

''“Yes, baby, I heard you,” he said patiently. The tone of his voice was impersonal, despite the nickname. It was like my presence was just something he had to put up with. Like a soft drone, with no identifiable source. “Just… give me a moment.”''

''“But are you praying, Dad?” I asked again. I could feel my throat closing up a little, my eyes warming. “Please don’t. You don’t do it right. It doesn’t help, it just makes you act crazy!”''

''But there was no reply to that. I wasn’t even sure if he could hear me anymore. He would’ve answered, after all. Had he heard his oldest daughter explicitly asking—no, begging—him not to do something, that would mean something to him.''

Wouldn’t it?

''It made me unimaginably nervous. I was afraid to touch the door; I was afraid to do anything.''

He still didn’t answer my question.

“I think I’m going to live with my friend for a while—oh, you know him. Jake, the man who used to work with me. It’ll just be temporary, but they won’t let me travel right away. Maybe you could visit me during the summer,” he explained cheerfully.

“Yeah, um… that’d be great.” I said, smiling weakly. My heart thudded in my chest as I spoke, though, and with good reason.

He was getting out.

After 8 years, he was finally getting out.

We would be able to see him again; hear his laughter. His off-key singing wouldn’t push itself through the static phone-line. We wouldn’t hear the monotone woman’s voice every time we wanted to talk to him. He could hug us again, take us to the movies, do all the things we did before he left for good.

Our banter would return.

But so would his strong, demanding voice when he told us to do something. So would his eyes, dark and dangerous, after he’d finished his nightly prayer. So would the lies. So would the pain.

I had no way of knowing if he actually changed at all in there, and that… that scared the shit out of me. Yes, he was still my dad; and truth be told, I couldn’t help but still love him. But it would be the first time we would see him when I knew who—or what—he was, and that thought alone was absolutely terrifying.

''“Dad? Dad, please open the door,” I begged him. “Let me in, please. What are you doing in there?”''

''I felt so alone on the other side of this wall. The door was a thick barrier between us, and he could technically do whatever he pleased while he was behind it. With the door there, he could truly hide all he wanted.''

''“Baby, it’ll be alright.” he said after a few moments. I wanted to believe it more than anything. I felt as if the old, oak door could sense my fear as I hovered tentatively beside it, unsure of what other course of action I could take. It just seemed to laugh at me.''

“Um… yeah, that’s great, Dad,” I said, smiling blankly into the phone. “I can’t wait to see you.”

“I can’t wait either, baby. I love you,” he said, and it killed me how genuine it sounded. The one seemingly constant truth in his spider web of lies, and once upon a time he’d managed to fuck all that up, too.

There was nothing to lose, and no time to waste.

''My instincts were certain, even at the young age of twelve. This wasn’t the first time he’d done this, after all, and every single occasion gradually resulted in something worse.''

''I didn’t know the details. I didn’t know what exactly happened when he was alone.''

''But in the late hours of the night, all I knew was that something took over my dad. It was like he was a completely different person, and I was the only one who knew it was happening. The only one who could keep watch. The only one who could protect my siblings in the next room—or even the next bed.''

And the only one who had to wait until the early hours of the morning for it all to be over.

I hardly heard a word he said after he told me he was getting out. My mind wasn’t in the right place. All I could think about was the man that went into that jail, and how I had no idea who the man that was coming out would be.

My thoughts were rushing, tumbling over each other in their recall.

Carefully, I managed to pick the lock to the bathroom door in only a minute or so: one of the only perks of living in a mediocre hotel like this.

''I almost didn’t want to open the door, but I had an unexplainable dread in the pit of my stomach that ordered me otherwise. It had to be done, I knew. And as the door slowly creaked open, I stared into the voided black eyes of the man who was once my dad and clenched my little fists tight. I had to fight this. I had to fight him. I had to—''

There was more to these thoughts, but they never truly broke the surface.

Because the only thing my eyes locked onto next was the open lighter in his hand.

I remembered standing not long ago, but I couldn’t recall when I’d sat down again. All I knew was that I couldn’t stop staring at the wall in front of me.

My father’s words were just a drone in my head, now, going in one ear and out the other.

The flames that almost came to be: I remembered them well. The exact moment my hand made contact with the open flame was always fresh in my mind. I curled my fingers over the scarred flesh on my palm once again, a movement that had become a morbid habit.

“Baby?” I heard him ask me. “You still there?”

I didn’t answer.

The sun rose with no remorse, and I was once again there to see it.

''Sleep pulled at the back of my eyelids, but I was in no mood to close them now. My gaze was fixed instead on the sleeping form of my father, though docile as he seemed, I couldn’t look away. It had been hours. Hours since we’d almost died.''

Yet I was the only one who would ever know.

''I couldn’t say a word. I knew that, deep down. My mom was a nice woman, and she cared about us so much—if she knew what was going on, she’d believe me instantly and call the authorities on him. She’d make sure everything was taken care of. I wouldn’t have to go through this again.''

''But my siblings would lose their dad. During the day, after all, he was fine. He was funny and kind and caring, and he knew how to give us a good time.''

It was only during the night that he became a monster, and that was my burden to bear for now.

''The next thing I knew, it was 8:00am. I watched his eyes crack open; a refreshing hazel blinked blearily at the ceiling before turning to me.''

''“Mm… morning, baby,” he murmured, lips curling into a faint smile. “What are you doing up so early?”''

''I felt myself smile back. Felt my shoulders shrug.''

''“Nothing,” I heard myself say. “Just couldn’t sleep, is all.”''

The end of the call came too fast and too slowly all at once, as it usually did. It wasn’t long before a harsh buzzing sounded in my ear: the noise that told us that we had only a minute left to say our goodbyes.

“Aw, I’m sorry we couldn’t talk longer. I love you, baby,” he said, regretfully.

I looked around my room.

Even though only 15 minutes had gone by, I could’ve sworn it had gotten darker. Everything looked washed in a dull light, like a filter had been applied to my glasses. And truthfully, I had no idea how to brighten it up again.

I was lost.

Every day, I uncovered things that I never knew about him. About my family. About me. About this darkness inside of me, slowly festering and whining, growing at every given moment and tempting me toward the unspeakable.

About the little voice in my head that reminds me that God is dead. I should pray to it, now.

I think it came that night. The night my dad ignored my direct pleas; the night he expressed his first interest in hurting, or even killing, my siblings and I. From that point forward, I didn’t feel safe walking into the house of my own parent. I still wouldn’t, and I knew that, and that was what scared me about him getting out.

Just two months after that day, he was arrested for assault, and soon afterward he was also charged with drug possession. I knew there was no way in hell anyone would believe me after that. They’d just tell me he was high. Drugs can change a person, they can traumatize a user’s family, etcetera, etcetera.

But in the end, I don’t care what kind of drugs he took.

I know what I saw. I know what he felt, because it’s what I feel now, every single day.

Another alarm buzzed in my ear, and I knew my time was up.

So, like an upbeat tune with doomed lyrics, I swallowed down the darkness inside of me with everything I could, and surrendered the answer he was looking for—something I wish he’d done for me all those years ago.

“I love you, too, Dad.”

Click.