Precisely two minutes before my phone alarm would ring, I woke up in my room. It was a soft yet dark blue color, decorated with diagrams of chemicals and pictures of stars. On the ceiling, the Milky Way Galaxy as was visible on March 14th, 2019 at 8:59 PM exactly had been constructed out of glow in the dark stars. Dad had scowled at me when he found out, but I left them up there anyways. The telescope I had begged for stood staring towards the wall, as if there was something to bother looking at. Otherwise, the room was extremely messy, Harry Potter novels littered around with random bits and bobs.
I slowly uncurled from underneath the covers, going through my mental checklist. Everything seemed fine. I was Jade Holmes, daughter of the world's most childish detective. Letting out a sigh of relief, I slid out of bed, shivering as the cold air hit me. The heating was always terrible on the very top floor, but I never complained about it. This was Uncle John's room when he lived with Dad, and if there was one thing I tried my hardest to do, it was to avoid anything that would make Dad think about him. He would mope for days if he realized that John didn't live here anymore, instead preferring to have sex with his wife all the time.
Dad nearly walked in on them once, in retrospect. That was an amusing thing to hear about later on. Chuckling slightly, I changed out of my PJs and into blue jeans, partnered with a Doctor Who Weeping Angel t-shirt. While Dad hated anything to do with Astronomy, I was passionate about it. Time travel always appealed to me, and I spent not nearly enough time watching the television show. Moffat, simply put, had to be a genius. Evil, yes, but vastly intelligent.
"Jade, go back to bed," Dad's voice called, a cold baritone with slight tinges of affection. Dad has been acting like this a lot lately. My stomach feels as if it knots itself, knowing that to him, I seem like glass. Fragile, and about to shatter.
"Why the hell would I do that?" I ask, trying to sound sarcastic, but the end result betrays my sleepiness if anything.
Determination filling me, I finish getting dressed and walk down the stairs. My eyes scan the room, attempting to find my backpack somewhere, sitting perhaps on a chair or on the floor by the door. A quick glance confirms that it's not where I had intended to leave it. All of the experiments are there, including the analysis on the effects of white out when combined with blood (A positive, to be precise). No signs of Mrs. Hudson doing any of her cleaning, in which she believes that my notebook is overfilling. I've named it after Uncle dear. Both of them are fat and full of knowledge.
Dad chortled, holding my backpack in his hand, "Make a deduction."
Raising an eyebrow, I seriously considered whether or not he was joking. As tired as I was, I never did make too many deductions for Dad to inspect. The entire thing served to aggravate my anxiety disorder. If there was anything I tried to do my hardest, it was to impress him, whether or not I cared to admit it. Most children had an easier time at achieving it; I don't think I had ever managed to make Dad truly feel proud that he had a whiny little brat.
"Sometime today, if you don't mind," Dad added, still dangling my backpack in his fingers.
"Fine. Whatever," I muttered, sighing as I set myself to work.
It was as if time froze. Details and information about past reasons he declared I was not going to school filled into my head. The first possibility is that he believed me to be ill. Physically? It didn't quite fit. However, with my…episode…the odds that he found me to be mentally ill were looking good. Then there was the backpack. He wouldn't have bothered to hold it if this was simply for one day. He would have just hidden it, if that was the case. This means that there has to be something he is going to do to the backpack.
I take a deep breath, then look at the equipment set up on the table. The pieces fall into play quickly, and I realize that my backpack is going to be used for his next experiment. He doesn't believe I will need it anymore. Thus, the odds that he wants me to ever return to school seem slim. Taking another breath, as if oxygen intake could be equivalent to brain function, I piece together the rest of the puzzle. I sigh, feeling the knots in my stomach increase.
Some days, I wished that I could just run outside of the flat and cry.
"You've pulled me out of school and are going to begin homeschooling me, largely due to the events of yesterday," I stated coldly, trying to mask all emotion from my tone. Feelings never helped.
Dad nodded, his black curls bouncing a little bit as he did so, "Good, good. I see the public school system hasn't done as much damage as I feared. Mycroft largely was responsible for all the little tests you had to take, of course. I wrote an essay on—"
"I don't want to be pulled out of school," I huffed, stomping my feet a little bit as I did so. Perhaps, Dad would overestimate how much I would miss my friends and place me back in.
Under no circumstances was he to find out about my little issue. If he did, the results would be terrible, worse than when Loki tried to rule the Earth in the Avengers film. No one would be allowed to know about my secret. And the more time I spent around a person that had actual intelligence, the scarier that possibility became. I sucked in air, feeling it sharp and tingling against the inside of my mouth. My face settled back into the mask that I wished to craft, one that seemed to share a longing for a rowdy pack of friends.
A face that wasn't hiding a terrible nightmare.
"Until you have proven that you are able to be alone without causing harm to yourself, Jade, that is simply not an option," Dad uttered, dropping my backpack onto the table and covering it with a fine layer of acid, "As much as I detest this parenting charade, there is a legitimate concern for your safety."
"Why would I not be able to do that?" I scoffed, resisting the urge to scratch my arm. Any indication that my habits were real, naturally, would only serve to prove Dad's point. I had been perfecting lying to him for years.
Perhaps, this would be the time that I managed to get it right.
Dad smirked, peering over at me. His gaze was penetrating, tearing the simplest people apart in seconds. If you were lucky, it would only take him a minute to figure out everything there was about you. Regulating my breathing, I stared back at him, my face perfectly displaying confusion. The small tic I used to have as a child relatively under control, yet the nerves in my stomach began to creep up on me. The pain burned, searing through me as it spread fiery fear to each part of me. My mind began to lose its hold, yet Dad never ceased looking away.
Eventually, he chuckled and glanced away, giving me a split second to relax. Tentatively, I scratched my left hand, shivering with pleasure as an old scab burst open. The blood was minimal and easily hidden under the sleeve of my jacket. Hopefully, Dad would be far too preoccupied with destroying my backpack to notice.
After all, the world's finest detective can't always see everything, right?
"Bandages are on the top shelf," Dad murmured, pulling one down and handing it to me, "You may want to consider carrying them with you, if your habit is going to persist in such a manner. It would be inconvenient to me if you were to contract something serious, such as an infection that could have been prevented with a simple band-aid."
"Thanks for caring," I sighed, placing the tiny bandage on my hand. The real purpose of it was to keep me from scratching later. I knew how this game worked.
"Sarcasm, dear?" Dad questioned, feigning innocence, "Isn't that what parents do? Care for their children?"
"What's the matter with you? Did Uncle pass a new law?" I shot back, staring at my backpack with longing and pity. I still had my copy of House of Hades in there, which I had neglected to finish. Too late now, I suppose.
"He does little else…," Dad's voice drifted off, as his attention remained focused on the backpack, "Go back to sleep. Lessons won't begin until late this evening. And I'm not going to tell you why. You can figure it out. You're a big girl, or whatever the silly expression is."
The mask that I had been keeping up crumbled. Fortunately, he continued not to look at me. Tears slowly trickled down my face, staining my cheeks. I had lasted longer than I expected to, but it didn't matter. Dad always prided himself on being a high functioning sociopath. Apparently, that title couldn't apply to me. I was weak. I was something that needed to be covered in bubble wrap and held close.
Another tear slid down my face. I felt numb, trying to find the strength to protest, "I'm not a child…I…I can stay in school….Please…"
He didn't turn around. Something was wrong. Time stopped again as I saw him tense, every muscle of his body ready. His brain had been thrown into overdrive, as the poor backpack slowly was hurt by the acidic layer. Neither of us were paying attention to it. Briefly, I saw someone else beside my father in the tiny flat. A small boy, crying to his older brother, claiming that he could do it. I blinked and the image was gone. It had never happened.
Dad turned around, staring at me quietly. I nodded, as if I could understand. As if I knew deep down that I was just ill and needed help. I shivered, remembering my little problem. Could he see it? Fear trickled in, as something strange happened. Dad pulled me close to him, smoothing my hair as he muttered something to himself.
"The east wind will pass you by, Jade. I promise you that."
I nodded, feeling more of the tears fall. I didn't feel up to questioning Dad's behavior just yet. It would be nice to let the fairy tale continue for as long as possible in order to avoid waking up.