A young me crouched in that same position shaking the same way, listening for the front door to bang open signaling my father’s arrival from the bar. What I saw on this boy’s face was the same fear I’d worn on mine when my father shouted at my mother when my mother screamed as he rammed a fist into her stomach and she collapsed on the floor, as his foot jutted out striking her in the stomach again and again. My mother covered her stomach that held my baby sister inside trying to protect the little girl not yet born, she protected the unborn child as much as she could, not that my father cared he shoved her into the cold porcelain bathtub still hitting as hard and as much as he could. I wanted to protect my mother too, I was her child after all. Fear wasn’t something I cared about when I took action I ran over gripping his legs trying to stop the onslaught of brutality, blood covered the side of the bathtub standing out against the white of the porcelain, my arms trembled I knew his attention would soon turn to me.

“ Get the hell off me brat!” His words slurred

He shook me off from his leg, a cold boot found its way to my gut knocking the breath from my lungs and puke onto the floor. Vision blurry, blackness encroaching, consciousness fading I heard the front door open, my brother Dylan must’ve just returned from work he was 15 a lot older than I was maybe he could actually do something. His footsteps thumped over to me

“ what have you done?!” His voice was shocked, even though he knew exactly what had happened, this wasn’t the first time.

“Shut up whaddya know boy!” My dad’s disgusting slur and smell exaggerated especially when he spoke

I tried to move, but couldn’t. I saw my brother’s shoes as he stood up, a commotion, than a body next to mine on the floor. Screams, darkness, hell.