Buried in His Shadow

In the precinct lobby, my one and only friend—and deskmate—Melissa Benjamin was talking to an officer.

She explained how my phone wasn’t going through, and I’d completely ghosted her on a day we were supposed to meet. Her eyes were red and brimming with tears, and just watching her fall apart made my heart twist painfully.

I instinctively reached out to wipe her tears, but my hand passed right through her cheek. Frozen, I stared at her face, then laughed through the tears in my own eyes.

‘Thank you. Thank you for showing up. Thank you for not giving up on me,’ I thanked her.

While the officer was asking for my parents’ contact information, Dad walked into the lobby. He barely spared Melissa a glance before cutting in, “No need to follow up. I’m Lisa’s father. She’s not missing. She got grounded for messing up and isn’t allowed to hang out with her little gang of bad influences.”

He emphasized those last five words, and I saw the blood drain from Melissa’s face as she looked down in humiliation.

She wasn’t a bad influence! She was the one who always draped her coat over my head when I was hiding and crying; she was the one who would pretend to be full so I’d have something to eat; she was the one who once chased a bully across the playground with a mop dipped in toilet water; she was the one who grabbed my hand when the whole class ignored me and said, “Guess it’s just us two against the world. Cool girls only.”

Melissa wasn’t a bad influence. She was my best and only friend.

However, Dad was respected in the precinct, and no one questioned his word. My disappearance was brushed aside once again.

I watched as Melissa left the station looking lost and crushed, and I couldn’t stop the tears rolling down my face. I tried to chase after her, but I was trapped beside my father like a ghost tethered to his presence.

I followed him back to the lab and then back home. Dinner was already on the table when we got in. The same as always, there were grilled fish, cajun crab legs, and buttered shrimp.

My mother remembered all of my brother’s favorite dishes, yet she always seemed to forget that I was allergic to seafood. Dad had once asked me why I wasn’t eating, and I thought—naively—that he was finally starting to care.

I had clutched the napkin and said carefully, “Dad, I’m allergic to seafood…”

Mom slammed her fork down and jabbed a finger at my face. “What kind of ungrateful brat complains about food someone else worked hard to cook?”

I looked at Dad—my hero, the man who used to protect me when Mom got like this.

However, all he did was put a giant piece of crab on my plate and mutter, “Just eat. Don’t piss off your mom.”

Their eyes cornered me, and it felt like not eating would be a crime. Hence, I ate it all.

That night, my throat swelled so badly I couldn’t breathe. My vision blurred; my skin burned and itched all over.

“Help… me…”

My voice was nearly gone. I staggered to the door, clawing at the handle, but it wouldn’t budge. Panic gripped me, and I pounded on the door, desperate.

“Help! Please! Mom… Dad… Help me! I don’t want to die…”

Then, I heard Mom’s voice from the living room.

“She’s just having a reaction. She’ll be fine. Good thing I locked the door. She’s always pretending to be pitiful. It makes me sick.” Then, she added cheerfully, “By the way, Theo said in my dream last night he wants the new gaming console. Let’s hurry before the mall closes.”

I tried screaming, “No, don’t go! Mom. Dad. Please don’t leave me. I don’t want to die. I don’t want to–”

The front door slammed shut, and just like that, I was left alone.

I curled up in the corner, heart slowing, breath fading. At that moment, I thought maybe dying would hurt less than that.

Downstairs, I heard the voices of a father and daughter laughing.

“You little troublemaker. You knew you were allergic to peanuts. Why’d you eat them anyway?”

“I’m sorry, Dad! I didn’t mean to! Don’t tell Mom, please!”

“She already knows. She was worried sick, so she rushed to cook a feast for you. We’re just glad you’re okay. No parent holds a grudge against their kid.”

I felt like a filthy, envious parasite eavesdropping on someone else’s joy. However, I couldn’t help it. I, too, wanted parents who cared that I was allergic, cooked meals I liked, and fussed, hovered, and loved me.

Instead, I was the girl who killed her brother and the kid no one wanted or loved.

‘But Mom, Dad, I didn’t want to die. Please believe me… I really don’t want to die.’