It was at times like this that Aria felt her lack of belonging the most. This after-dinner routine was standard procedure. Everyone seemed unbothered by the unconscious, mundane repetition. That is, everyone but her. She felt like a fish trying to make its home with a nest of birds. She couldn’t breathe in the emotional atmosphere of this house. It wasn’t the presence of emotions that bothered her. It was the lack of them. It was the vacuum of those moments where the surface veneer of a happy family sat like a film over the truth. The truth was, it was all just one giant act.

Aria retreated to her room, holding a bowl of vanilla ice cream. The house was quietening for the night. Clifford, who was smoothing the white patch of fur on his chest with his tongue, looked up at her when she entered the room. She sat down by him, stroked his head and began to eat her ice cream. Vanilla tasted stable and cozy to Aria. It was like the parts of childhood that one might actually miss, like warm towels fresh out of the dryer. She spent nearly an hour staring out the little window in her room at the rows of identical houses on the block. She watched cars come and go. She watched people take out the trash. She watched dogs zigzag in disorganized patterns on the end of their leashes until twilight turned into night.

She was lying awake with her covers pulled over her head when she heard a soft rapping on the door of her bedroom. The familiar sound of Mr Johnson’s gait became louder as he approached the bed. She stayed frozen, pretending to be asleep. The covers were pulled up on one side, letting a rush of cold air flood her spine. His weight as he crawled into bed jostled her and tilted the mattress.

Suppressed urges are exercised in secret. It had been like this for two years now. On some nights, when Mr Johnson could find an excuse to be absent from his wife, he would slip into bed with Aria. This time, her school absence was the perfect excuse. Mrs Johnson trusted that he was going to set her straight, but setting her straight was not what her husband had in mind at all.

She could feel his hands against her back. Her tear-blinded eyes turned up toward heaven. She was no longer a child. He was no longer a man. This was their little secret, the secret that devoured Aria’s life with confusion. She did not know if it felt wrong or right. He was the only father she had known and she was terrified of him, but she wanted his affection so much that she would lie silent to let his hands slide across her naked body.