His promise

When thinking back over the past thirty days, I want to find a far off secluded spot where no-one will ever find me, I do not want to face anyone, I want to turn my back on the world, I want to turn my back on myself – I want to go into hiding. I am out of control; I cannot hide it any longer, the facade of redirecting concern away from me by using humour and counter questions, is no longer working.

I had resorted to being defensive, edgy, sarcastic, trying to deflect any uncomfortable statements or questions  away, that I knew would have forced me to look at myself. I had become stubborn to the point of resorting to self-destructive behaviour, being reckless and throwing all caution deliberately to the wind. I rebelled, ignored requests and concerns, became angry when cornered, lashing out refusing to acknowledge that I am still loved.

My transgressions were noted and written down, but every time he would talk to me for hours on end, bringing me back to some form of calmness, allowing me to vent my hurt and anger, knowing that it is borne out of feelings of helplessness and frustration about things I cannot change. There is only one transgression we do not talk about at all. I am to ashamed to admit what I have done, but suffice to say, that the terrible cold anger I heard in his voice that night, even surpassed the time when I decided to become aggressive and argumentative with a collective taxi driver.

I have no defence, no grounds to attempt to rationalise what I did, and although I have apologised, I know that it had not changed anything. I have committed the cardinal sin, putting myself in direct danger, deliberately, and for that, my bottom will pay. I had to answer one simple question: “How did you get home?” I could have lied, made up a story, but he knows me to well. I heard the defiance in my own voice when I answered him, but when his cold angry voice that fateful Friday night told me to go to sleep, and he will call me back in three hours time, I knew I had sealed my fate.

I am not even sure whether a note was made in his notebook, but I do know that he will not forget what I have done. He has promised me that I will be over his knee, for he is going to ensure that I never forget the cost of openly defying him. He has promised me that I will not be able to sit down for a month, and as each word was clipped off coldly, I knew it was no empty threat. He has promised me that tears will be rolling that day, and I realised that even when I do start crying for what I have done, he will continue until he is satisfied that the lesson had been learned.

If there is one thing about Uncle Nick that I know more than anything else in life, is that he regards his word as his honour, and he has never broken any of his promises to me, ever.