Page 45 of Under the Waves

I had no idea he was even gone until I woke up the next day and my dad casually announced it as I was eating breakfast. I cried non-stop that day—cried every day for the entire week that followed. My mom locked herself in her room and didn’t come out—the start of a cycle I now knew all too well.

I starved that week because they both forgot I existed.

After that day, my father pretended that Oliver was never born in the first place. He grew violent because my mother was grieving, and I think his way of dealing with it was letting it fester and become anger—a weapon he wielded against us both. They were never bad people, not in the beginning. They were just grieving. But I would never let that become an excuse for the years andyearsof abuse that followed.

My mom blamed me for her only son’s death. Blamed me for his abuse. I was the problem in her eyes, not her husband whose fists were imprinted on her skin.Me. Her daughter. I grew up with that burden hanging over my head—one she never let me forget,even now.

One day, I came home to my mom screaming, throwing glasses at my father. In his hands was a bright red suitcase. He shoved her against the counter and smacked her so hard she crumbled to the floor. And without even a second glance, he walked out that door and never looked back.

I followed him, tears falling from my cheeks and staining my hands.

He couldn’t even look at me.

Somewhere inside of him was the father who attended my every surf meet, took me to carnivals and let me eat cotton candy. Sometimes even milkshakes at the surf hut after I won a competition.

I didn’t miss who he was, I just missed what he used to be.

He left me in that house with her and never looked back.

I rotted away whilst he started a new family.

Maybe he hit them too, maybe he was still just as fucked up as he was after Oliver died. He chose to leave me because in his eyes, I would never be good enough. I could never make up for what my little brother could have been.

I was the excuse for everything, and I still was.

Deep down, I started to believe that was all I ever would be.

When I physically couldn’t take it anymore, I shoved my wetsuit on and tiptoed slowly over to my bedroom door. A small hiss left my lips when it creaked open and I made a mental note to fix that tomorrow, along with the hundred other things that were broken in this house. Dizziness overwhelmed me, spinning my mind and painting stars across my vision. It was the lack of sleep, it had to be.

Each step down the hall made my head swirl, my hands gripping the wall so tightly it made my knuckles begin to draw white. What the fuck was happening to me? I was being pathetic again.Come on, Poppy. I couldn’t be afraid of the waves. It was stupid, I was being stupid, and I was going to prove myself wrong.

My heart faltered as I passed the small, slightly jagged picture frame hanging from the wall. There were a million little cracks all over it from when my mom got into those fits where anything with his face on it meant it had to be smashed. Then the next day, she’d sob for hours on end because everything that reminded her of him was broken. It was exhausting trying to keep up with her, so I simply stopped trying.

I couldn’t change her. I couldn’t do anything but pick up the pieces after her.

A long time ago, I gave up trying to justify why she missed him in my head even after all he had done. Did she miss being beaten into unconsciousness? Each route was a dead end. I just had to accept that I would never know. Maybe she, just like me, missed the feeling of being loved. I knew he loved her, deep down, but somewhere along the way, it was lost to the person he became. She still chose to love him though, and I couldn’t decide if that was true love or foolishness.

The photo inside was covered in dust and falling to pieces, barely holding itself together. It was taken a few summers ago when my dad had thrown me onto his shoulders after I had won the junior surfing cup. I didn’t think I’d ever forget the proudness that glinted in his gaze that day.

We’d gone for milkshakes at Sunny’s Hut afterwards—both ordering our signature milkshakes with extra whipped cream, and sometimes strawberry slices. It was a tradition we’d kept since I had first started surfing, the one thing he allowed me to eat that wasn’t on my meal plan. It was a reward, and he knew starving me of it just made me train harder so I could have it again. It was a tradition that was now lost to time.

I didn’t even recognize the little girl in the photo anymore.

The smile on my lips, the adoration in my eyes.

I missed her. I grieved for her. That girl was gone now.

When I was little, I was addicted to perfection, to exceeding everyone’s expectations.Now? It was just an effort to keep up with them. They knew me for the fearless and ruthless surfer I used to be, the crazy freak I was now, and the dead girl I would be. I was so driven, so relentless—I wanted each gold medal around my neck and if any other color sat there, it was a waste of time.

It wasn’t good enough if it was anything but gold.

Iwasn’t good enough.

I knew it, he knew it, everyone in this miserable town fucking knew it.

So did Jasper in a way. Maybe he needed that push, that reason to go out there and do the best fucking performance of his life, even if it was just a heat or training session. It was about bragging rights, but I didn’t care about flaunting my achievements unless it was to him. He aggravated me in every way, constantly trying to be better than me so he could wave it in my face.

The more I thought about how I used to be, the more I believed I was beyond their reach of saving, and perhaps I prefer it that way. Perhaps that was how it had been all along.