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Birmingham, 1916
Isabella had forgiven her brothers for volunteering, she truly had. She had gotten over the betrayal. She had forgiven her brothers for leaving her. She had even answered their first letters. She had after all forgiven them.
But as the first letter explaining their absence, when they had promised to come home for a leave, the forgiveness seemed to slightly change back to anger. And as the same apologizing letters seemed to appear over and over again, only anger remained.
Now standing over the fire, watching every remaining memory of her older brothers burn, satisfaction coursed her veins. Every gift they had given her, every teddy bear, every picture, every book, every letter. Everything in her possession that led back to her brothers. Everything except the suits she had gotten handed down from them, she did after all need something to wear.
It had been a rather impulsive decision to burn everything. But when Arthur Sr. had taken his belt to her body, after yet another 'lesson' with Father Pittman without giving her a chance to clean herself, Isabella had somehow ended up in Tommy's bedroom. And as her body bled, the welts forming bruises, her body flaring up in pain and the wandering hands gripping every part of her body, she wanted nothing more than her older brothers' comfort.
She wanted Arthur to rub her back and wipe her tears, as he always did. She wanted John to whisper sweet nothings to her, as he always did. She wanted Tommy to hold her tight, as he always did. She wanted the comfort and safety only her brothers could offer her. She wanted her brothers.
While she sat on the floor in Tommy's room, emotionlessly staring at his pink princess walls, she felt rage consume her. Rage at her brothers for leaving, for breaking promises left and right, for leaving her to go through this hell on her own. Before she knew it, she had somehow ended up throwing stuff into a fire – she had somehow started – at the yard.
Isabella stood staring at the fire with a smirk on her lips, she didn't feel particularly happy, she didn't feel much of anything about the things burning. About the things that used to mean the world to her, burning. She only felt the pain coming from her injuries. The pain from everything she was going through. The anger and rage towards her brothers. The loneliness she constantly felt.
Gulping down the remainder of her gin and she threw the bottle into the fire. She let out a slight laugh as she heard the bottle shatter and watched the fire grow larger in reaction to the alcohol. Bringing her hands closer to the fire she felt the heat creep up her arms.
