Inescapable Escapism

I picked at the salad before me, unable to bring myself to actually eat it. It was the same one I’d had every single time we’d gone to the restaurant in the hotel during the summer. Part of me was relieved that it was the last time we would be going there for a year. They’d probably change the recipe a little bit before we went back. I hoped they would, at least.

A waiter walked past carrying a burger, and I couldn’t help but stare. It looked like it was the vegetarian burger that I’d wanted to try since our first visit weeks before, and I’d never gotten the chance to order it. It had been tempting, but every single time, my mother or my grandparents had been in such a terrible mood that I didn’t want to risk bringing more attention to myself. Now, I’d probably never get to try it.

I looked down at the sad plate of leaves in front of me, trying not to look too dejected. It wasn’t too difficult. I could practically feel the happiness rolling off my mom. She was almost vibrating with joy despite how cruel her parents were acting towards her. Well, it was mostly just my grandmother who was being awful. I couldn’t work out if my grandfather was ignoring her or just eating his steak in silence.

Mom was clearly thrilled that her parents had come back to see us off, even if it meant she didn’t have time to finish scrubbing the house clean of any trace that we’d stayed like she usually did. She normally stayed up almost all night before we left, cleaning every inch of it, even the rooms we barely used, but she couldn’t do that with them there.

Her mom had already commented on it several times. The way we lived, specifically my mother, was disgusting, apparently. It was disappointing to learn, she felt the need to point out, that my mom didn’t grow out of being a lazy slob. My grandmother expected better from her despite how often she’d apparently been let down in the past.

It was hard not to roll my eyes at that, and I saw my mom wince at her words. She continued smiling, though. Throughout the entire drive to the restaurant and the meal, the smile only fell from her face for a couple of seconds, if that. Her happiness that her parents cared enough to come back seemed to overpower any negative feelings that they were causing.

I was pretty sure that wasn’t why they were there, though. It didn’t make sense to me that they just wanted to see us again; that wasn’t something that they’d ever done before, so there had to be another reason. It was probably just a mistake. That seemed more likely than a deliberate decision. Perhaps they thought we were already gone, ignored Mom’s texts and calls and only realised once it was too late for them to turn back.

That made more sense to me. Maybe they didn’t work it out until they got to the house and found all of our stuff still there. Then, they probably didn’t want to have to make the long drive back to their other house, or perhaps they were just too stubborn to do it. We were going to be leaving before long, anyway. They might have realised that they only had to put up with us for twelve hours or so, and surely that wouldn’t be too bad.

It felt it, though. I couldn’t wait to be away from them and the constant comments. My mom was bad, but she was nothing compared to her mom. I could deal with her. Plus, she’d ignore me more at home. She’d have my dad to soak up some of her anger and irritation, and that always made things easier on me, even if things hadn’t been that bad whilst we’d been in Scotland. On the whole, she’d been okay.

I was excited to see my dad again, too. I missed him. And Duncan. I’d get to see him again soon. Our date was in just a couple of days, and that realisation caused butterflies to take flight in my stomach. I was excited, obviously, but nervous too.

That was normal, though. I was pretty sure it was. He was my friend, and we’d been friends for so long. I liked him a lot, and I knew that I wouldn’t really be nervous if it was a normal situation. If we were just planning to hang out like we usually did, I’d feel basically no anxiety about it, but it wasn’t. It was something more than that.

Maybe. I was still not too sure. He’d definitely been flirting with me more since we scheduled our date, and I was flirting back, but I couldn’t work out if he actually meant what he was saying. He was a flirtatious person. I knew that he was; he always had been, so maybe I was just reading too much into it, and he’d be mortified to know I thought he might have feelings for me.

Nausea pulled at me as my mind ran away. I could practically picture the look of horror on his face as he realised, the pity in his eyes. It made me want to curl up into a ball and let the ground swallow me whole. I wouldn’t ever be able to face him again. He’d be kind about it; I knew he would, but it would be impossible for me to even look at him without having all of those emotions, the overwhelming embarrassment, grip my heart again.

“More wine? Honestly, Amanda. You’re going to drink the place dry,” my grandmother remarked as my mom poured some into her glass. “You are aware there are calories in drinks, aren’t you? That would certainly explain something.”

Mom lowered the bottle back to the table, her movements slow and deliberate.

“Yes, I am. Thank you, Mom,” she said in a tight tone as she picked up her cutlery again, gripping it so tightly her knuckles turned white.

My grandmother didn’t reply. She simply sniffed pointedly before continuing to eat.

I glanced between them, waiting for someone to say something, but the silence continued to stretch over the table. It would never happen, and I knew it, but I couldn’t help wondering what would happen if my mom refused to let it continue. If she did something about the constant barrage of rude comments and insults.

She hadn’t continued eating yet. She was still just clutching her knife and fork, seeming to be trying to steel herself to do something. Probably to ignore her mom and go back to eating, but a stray thought crept into my mind. What would happen if she snapped? It wouldn’t go well; I was pretty sure of that, but the idea still intrigued me.

Dizziness started to pull at me, the feeling tempting yet wrong. I wasn’t sure what about it felt off, but something just wasn’t right. There was an edge to it. A sharpness that seemed unnatural. There was something strange about the world that was hovering at the back of my mind, and I needed to know what it was.

The curiosity was too much. I couldn’t stop myself from starting to give in and slipping into the world. I didn’t allow myself to fall in completely, though. It felt too dangerous to do that. Instead, I let my awareness slowly grow, causing the world to become more solid, whilst staying slightly removed in case I needed to leave quickly.

Noise. That was the first thing I noticed. Someone was screaming. It was sharp, shrill, and filled with fear. The sound should have scared or worried me, but it had the opposite effect. I could feel myself being dragged deeper, pulled into the world as it gradually came into view around me.

I didn’t know the woman who was screaming, I realised as I stared at her. She was standing at the edge of the room near a younger girl who clutched at her and sobbed. They were both looking at us, though. The woman was trying to cover the girl’s eyes, but she didn’t seem to want to look away from whatever was happening to check where they were. She was mostly just covering her forehead.

“Grace,” a voice that I knew belonged to my mother called. “You should eat.”

I could barely hear her over the screaming, but I heard enough. She sounded different in that world. Her voice was a little lower than I was used to and much more restrained. Her expression was carefully controlled too. There was a smile on her lips, but it didn’t reach her flat, cold eyes at all.

There was a lump in my throat, I realised. It was thick, almost impossible to swallow, but I forced myself to do so before looking down at my plate. I wasn’t holding my cutlery. I’d dropped it at some point, but I couldn’t remember why. It was hazy. Something had happened, and I’d dropped my knife and fork in surprise, I was pretty sure. It shocked me.

Mom’s eyes were burning into my face, though. I could feel them as I forced myself to pick them up and cut a tiny slice of lettuce, shoving it into my mouth before looking up. My eyes found my grandmother. She wasn’t eating either. She was silent, her mouth agape and her face pale as she stared down at her hand.

A gasp slipped out of my mouth before I could stop it, and I almost choked on my food.

“Is something wrong?” my mom asked sharply.

Panic pounded in my chest as I ripped my eyes away from my grandmother to look at my mom, forcing myself to swallow the lettuce in my mouth. It felt rubbery and impossible to get down, but eventually I managed it.

“No, no,” I said, my voice coming out tight.

“Good.”

The restaurant was in chaos, I realised as I looked down at my plate, watching it out of the corner of my eyes. People had leapt back away from their tables. Some had rushed out of the room, but most were huddled at the side of the room, watching. All except our table.

My mom continued to eat, seemingly unbothered by the screaming or what had happened. I waited until she looked away again, glancing down at her food casually as she speared another bite of the salad, before looking at my grandmother again.

Blood was slowly spreading across the white tablecloth, and I didn’t want to see where it was coming from, but I couldn’t stop myself. My eyes found her hand, and the urge to vomit or run far away from the table slammed into me as I spotted the fork pinning it to the table below.

What had happened, I asked myself as the world spun nauseatingly around me. I remembered a flash of movement, a flash of light as my grandmother reached for the bottle of wine. She’d said something, made a comment, and was trying to take it before my mom could drink it all. That was when my mother had struck. It had been quick, so fast my grandmother barely knew what was happening, and she couldn’t react before the fork had been driven into the back of her hand, slamming it into the table.

She’d snapped. My mother had finally had enough of the comments and insults, just like I wanted her to. I thought she’d say something, tell her mom to stop or not to be rude, but I never thought she would do something like that.

“Amanda—” my grandmother started, finally finding her voice again, but my mother cut her off.

“If you say one more word,” my mother said, her tone unchanged and calm, “I will slit your throat with Dad’s steak knife.”

I saw my grandmother’s eyes dart towards the knife, and I did the same. Mom would be able to reach it from where she was sitting. Easily. And after seeing what she had done to my grandmother’s hand, I had no doubt that she would be able to do it. She would kill her mom without hesitation, and that terrified me.

Where was my grandfather? I looked around, trying to be subtle as I did so. His chair was empty, and I couldn’t see him anywhere, but there was no way he’d just sit there and let my mom do that. If she tried to stab my grandmother, he would step in. Or did Mom know that? Perhaps she waited until he went to the bathroom, timing it perfectly so no one would stop her.

Or did he run? Maybe Mom turned to him after stabbing her own mother, and he fled the room. It didn’t seem like something he would do, but I wasn’t sure. It was hard to know.

I could feel my mom’s gaze boring into me again, and I met them fearfully. She held my eye for a moment before glancing pointed at the food before me, clearly telling me to do so. There was a warning in her expression, a threat, and I stabbed my salad blindly before shoving it into my mouth.

Mom’s lips pulled up into another emotionless smile before she continued eating with the fork she had plucked from her mother’s plate. Hers was already in use, after all. She couldn’t exactly pull it out of my grandmother’s hand to use. How could she possibly expect me to keep eating when my grandmother was so close and slowly losing so much blood? Someone had to do something. I had to…

But what could I do? What would Mom do to me if I didn’t keep eating? The steak knife was so close. Would she use it on me? I don’t know. There were so many people around the room watching us, too. The screaming lady had stopped; I couldn’t see her anymore, but there were others. Other people stared at us in horror and fear, and I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t do anything other than continue to eat.

A pleased expression came over my mom’s face as I choked down another bite of my food, and icy fear slipped down my spine. She hadn’t shown any remorse, I realised. No regret or concern. She was just… cold. Detached. She seemed so unfazed by what had happened, and that terrified me more than what she had done. How could she be so unaffected by her own mother’s pain?

Was my real mother capable of that? If she snapped, could she really hurt her mom and not care at all? Was it only a matter of time? She’d been violent before. I’d seen her punch the wall and throw things, but that was different. All of those times, she’s been angry or upset. I’d never seen her so calm.

“Oh no,” she muttered to herself, a hint of concern entering her voice as she poured the last of the wine into her glass. “I think we’re going to need to order another.”

That was the most bothered she’d sounded all evening. It was as if that was her biggest worry, not what she had done.

I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t stay in that world, sitting there and watching Mom pretend that nothing had happened until the police arrived. It was only a matter of time. Someone must have called them already; they had to be on their way. I needed to leave, to go back to my world and hope my real mom would never snap like that. I wanted her to do something, but that was too much. It was too far.

A silent, shaking breath slipped out of my mouth as I watched Mom take a long sip of her wine. Her eyes fluttered shut as she savoured the taste, seeming to enjoy the moment much more than she should have. I had to go.

The dizziness found me quickly, fear making it easier for once, and the world began to fade around me. I hesitated for just a moment, glancing around at the crowd who were huddled against the walls. Something had prompted me to do it, but I wasn’t sure what. They seemed normal. Their reaction to the situation was completely normal. Everyone looked scary, terrified of what my mom had done.

All except one woman. She didn’t look scared at all. In fact, she was smiling as she looked at my mom.

A slight shudder rushed through me, and I blinked as I looked around again. The restaurant was no longer in chaos. There was no screaming, no blood, and people were still seated. They weren’t even looking at us. I was back in reality. The world was a little unsteady, though. The colours seemed a little faded, less vibrant than they should, but I could tell it was real.

My grandmother was unharmed, too. I was relieved to see that. And my mother didn’t have that detached expression on her face. Instead, the forced smile was still pulling at her lips. Relief washed over me, but it didn’t last long.

“I assume you’ll be setting off early tomorrow,’ my grandmother said, her tone pointed.

It was like she was counting down the seconds until we were gone, but my mom just smiled.

“Oh, yes. It would be nice to be home before it gets too late,” she replied happily.

Did Mom think she’d asked to make sure they were awake in time and didn’t miss us? Why else would she be so upbeat about it? I wasn’t sure, but it didn’t really matter. She wasn’t about to stab anyone, I was pretty sure. I could leave the world without having to worry.

Dizziness swallowed me, and in an instant, I was seated in a very different room. I glanced around at the bright dining room around me, trying to figure out where I was. I should have been outside. I had been the last time I checked. Rodgers and I were walking across the grass, following the worn path towards the garage at the back of the Academy, but we weren’t there anymore.

I’d missed it. I’d missed the entire tour of the facilities outside, I realised as disappointment spread through me. Somehow, I’d managed to return to the world just in time for us to have breakfast. It was more like lunchtime, though. The food was a strange mix of both. Waffles and a pasta salad sat on two small plates in front of me, but Rodgers tucked into a giant stack of waffles drenched in maple syrup.

People had filtered in pretty much constantly since we’d sat down, and most of them had come over to talk to Rodgers. They introduced themselves to me too, but I’d lost track of the names and faces. They’d all blurred into one. Everyone seemed nice, though. They were all polite and kind, which was good. It made the school seem a little bit less scary. It was still overwhelming and terrifying, obviously, but slightly less so.

I glanced down at the iPad next to my plates, my eyes finding my schedule. We’d picked it up on the way to the canteen, and I could remember pouring over it already, but that didn’t stop me from reading it again.

The classes seemed to be on an alternating two week schedule. Some happened at the same time every week, but others varied. They were a strange combination too. Some subjects were ones I’d done in my old school and real life, like maths and biology, but others were new to me. I had no clue what to expect from survival cooking, but I couldn’t wait to find out.

“How are you feeling about that?” Rodgers asked, jarring me out of my thoughts.

“Pretty good,” I replied. “I’m excited to start the new classes.”

There were some we couldn’t do in the induction wing, like driving, and I couldn’t wait to begin learning how to do it. Would we start with a car? Or would they start smaller, like with a motorbike? That felt more dangerous, though. A car had more protection. A crash could still kill me, but a bike had nothing.

“Great! That’s not even all of them, by the way.”

I glanced up at Rodgers in confusion.

“It’s not?” I asked, looking back down at the schedule.

It was only two pages, though. There was no mention of any other classes or subjects.

“Nah. Some subjects are taught as intensives, rather than having regularly scheduled classes throughout the weeks.”

I had no clue what that meant. What was an intensive? It sounded bad or scary, though.

“Oh?” I said unsurely.

“Sorry,” he apologised, seeing the confused expression on my face. “I forget that newbies need to have this explained to them. So, throughout the year, you’ll have a few one to four week blocks where you don’t have most of your normal lessons. Instead, you’ll spend the time focusing on a specific skill or subject.”

“Like what?” I asked, intrigued by the idea of it.

“Scuba diving, skydiving, sailing, that kind of thing. It doesn’t really make sense to have the classes every week because of travel constraints,” Rodgers explained as he poured even more syrup onto his waffles. “I mean, sure. You can dive in a pool or a lake whenever you want, but you don’t learn much from that. You’re not pushing yourself to improve, so after the first couple of times, it’s entirely pointless.”

My heart sank slightly. I wanted to learn how to do all of that, even though it terrified me, but the mention of diving just reminded me of Mitch. I’d gone diving with him. He’d taught me how to do it, and then he’d swam out of that cave with a bullet hole in his stomach because of me.

Sweat started to bead on my hands, making the cutlery slick, and I forced myself to push those thoughts aside, to push the mental image of Mitch being shot out of my head. I didn’t even see it happen. It was just my imagination running wild.

“That makes sense…”