May, 2016

I used to watch the bat pretty much every night, the way it zipped back and forth across the garden, slicing through the orange glow of the streetlight. It was so fast, darting in and out of the shadows. I pretended it was there for me—my vampire protector.

I needed that. I needed to believe something unkillable was out there, watching over us, ready to strike if my dad ever came back. He always said he would, that he’d come and get me in the night and take me away from mum, or set the house on fire while we slept.

I can’t even remember how long he’d have been gone by that point. Weeks? Months? It all just blurs together. Sometimes he’d disappear for what felt like an eternity, and other times it was like he’d only just left. It could’ve been one of those times they’d taken him to Bootham hospital. Or maybe he’d just slipped away on his own after he did something to mum, creating that terrifying uncertainty, where even his absence became a weapon. It didn’t matter if he was gone physically—he was always there in the back of our minds, making sure we knew he was still watching, waiting.

I’d stand at Mum’s window, elbows resting on the sill, tucked behind the curtain. The pattern of the net curtain pressed against my face, my arms, and I liked how the moonlight painted little shadows over my skin. It made me feel... safe. I remember thinking it made me invisible. A kind of moonlight camouflage.  

For a little while, I’d feel okay, like the bat was enough to keep him away. That when he came back, it would be ready. It would swoop down, tear into him, make sure he never hurt Mum again. But I could never fully shake the fear, especially not at the back of the house.

I was still terrified of going to the toilet. I’d hold it for as long as I could, desperate not to leave Mum’s bedroom. The toilet window had frosted glass, and below it, the ladders were chained to the drainpipe. I always thought he’d climb them. That I’d see his face, distorted through that glass, just staring at me, waiting for the moment to get in and grab me. The idea of him being right there, on the other side, was enough to make me sick with fear.

I never wanted to wake Mum up, so I’d hold it. I’d creep across the landing, trying to move with the stealth of a spy. I’d memorised every creaky floorboard, and knew exactly where to step. I’d also worked out that if the door was left at a particular angle, I could peer through the gap between the door and the jamb to check the window first.

I remember I’d always put toilet paper down in the bowl to muffle the sound of my wee, which I’d let out in tiny trickles. You learn these things, growing up in domestic violence.

I’d just sit there, barely breathing, watching the shadows of the leaves from next door’s tree swaying against their security light, waiting for his silhouette to pop up, for his distorted face to appear in the window.

But sometimes, in the stillness, I’d stay there long after I was done, like I was daring him to come. Like I needed to prove something—to him, to myself—that I wasn’t scared.

And, as messed up as it sounds, some part of me thought that if I could just sit there, calm and still, maybe he’d finally see my strength, too. Maybe then he’d respect me for it. Respect the way I refused to bend. Like somehow, by not showing fear, I could force him to recognise my worth as a daughter.

The thought would twist something in my gut, before my mind would drift into imagining myself as that bat—a creature of the night. Immortal. Supernatural. Unstoppable.

If I were the bat, I wouldn’t just be sat here, waiting. I’d be free, fearless, able to tear him apart if he ever tried to hurt us again. Mum wouldn’t have to worry anymore. We’d be safe, finally, because I would be the one he’d fear.

And sometimes, when I sat there in the dark, I had this feeling that one day, I would be. One day, I wouldn’t just wish for it—I’d become it. I’d find a way to be more than a frightened little girl. One day, I thought, I’ll be something else. Something powerful. Something no one could ever reject, use, or hurt ever again.