Her Five Brothers

Chapter 1 - life is hard

Aspen: TW

Life is hard. It's exhausting. Life will suck every ounce of your happiness and lock it away. It doesn't care how old you are, who you are, it doesn't matter. Life will fill you with pain and trauma that will constantly knock you down. And when you get back up, fight for what you deserve, life will continue to challenge you. Eventually, there is a point you give up. You stop trying to fight away the overwhelming thoughts and traumatic memories, you stop trying to control the panicked breathing and shaking hands. And suddenly, with no warning, you are stuck. Trapped by life in a cycle that you believe will last forever.

Maybe that's why I'm here now, pill bottle clenched tightly in my hand while tears slowly drip down my pale face. Life has got me and I have given in.

When my mother died two years ago, I knew. I knew that this was going to be my end, my fate. It was written in the stars from the moment I found her swinging from the ceiling. Like mother like daughter, they say. Maybe we are a little too much alike.

My mother was a wonderful, kindhearted woman. She protected me and loved me. And when she met her new boyfriend Adam Cross, he loved me just the same. I was seven when they met and was giddy at the thought of having a father. The girls at my school would always talk about what their father's had done for them and the time they spent together. They would rush out of the school gates into the arms of their father's who would hug them tightly, kissing their heads. They would ask about their day, tell their daughters how much they we missed. I was jealous. What was so different about me? Why did I not deserve that type of love? Love that could only come from a father?

My mother and Adam had six long years together and even got married. He became a father figure to me and I had called him my father. My dad. I ran into his arms after school, I rambled on about my day while he would laugh and smile at me, totally rapt in whatever I had to say.

That all changed when my mother hung herself from our living room ceiling. There was no warning, no signs, not even a note. I was 13 and Adam and I had just come back from school. We called the police in disbelief. My mother was always so joyful, so loving. How could someone like that hate the world? Hate life so much.

After that day, Adam changed. His grief turned into rage and his hatred for the situation turned into hatred for me. His irrational side blamed me, took the anger out on me. You were the reason, he used to tell me, it's all your fault. Emotional abuse soon turned physical and I became scared for my own life. Makeup and paracetamols became my addiction, nobody were to know or I would be sorry. Adam had a good reputation in town. A struggling widow, heroically stepping up to take care of his grieving step-daughter. But it was all an act.

And now, as I stand in the bathroom of this wrecked house I used to call home, I wonder why I didn't just let Adam finish me off.

I stare at the bottle in my quivering hands. Anything was better than this life. My fingers grazed the lid softly, grasping on and twisting. The cap came off with a small click. With my palm out, I pour twelve into my hand. A few swallows of twelve is all it takes. I just have to be brave enough.

With a shaker sigh, I lift my hand to my mouth and tilt my head back. One drops into my mouth. Then another. And as the third met my lips, loud banging on the door shocked me into dropping the rest of pills. I swallow the three down harshly, knowing it won't do anything but cause a small stomach ache, if that.

I froze in fright. Adam had gone out for the night and wouldn't be back for another five hours. I stay still for a moment, not even glancing down at the pills at my feet. My breathing hitches as they knock again.

"POLICE! OPEN UP!" A masculine voice yells and I flinch back in shock, eyes wide.

What the fuck were the police doing here?

Collecting myself, I rush to the door, only mildly aware of the aching throughout my body. I open the door timidly, peering around the frame with a small frown.

The two officer look down at me in surprise, softening their gazes slightly.

"Hello, sweetie. You must be Aspen Cross. I'm Officer Davis and this is my partner Officer Brad."

Officer Davis is a tall black women, dressed smartly in uniform. Her hair is slicked back neatly in a tight bun and she wears a strained smile on her lips. She seems to be older than Officer Brad, who is significantly shorter than his partner. He has a buzz cut and is wringing his hands together, looking a little nervous. His jaw is clenched, an almost angry look on his face despite his obvious nerves.

"We have a lot of these to discuss, Aspen." She informs me after my nod, "Mind if we come in?" She questions. Knowing I don't have a choice, I step back and open the door wider. They smile gratefully and enter the hallway.

They both grimace at the state of the house, sending each other a pointed look. Officer Brad pulls out a small notepad, jotting down a few notes in scruffy handwriting.

"We can sit on the sofa. Coffee? Tea?" I politely offer in a whisper, diverting their attention back to me. They decline.

"We are sorry for the late visit," Officer Brad begins, "we are here to inform you about your step-father."

"What about him?" I ask confused, leg furiously slamming against the moulding floorboards.

They glance at each other again. "We are afraid to inform you that Mr Cross has been in an accident and has tragically passed away. We are incredibly sorry for your loss."

Tears flood my eyes as relief consumes my body. My shoulders relax and I let out a sob. Finally. Finally. He's gone forever. And he's not coming back. He can't hurt me anymore, he can't control me. I feel guilty that a large part of me is happy that i'm not going to see him again.

However, a small part of me is devastated. The father I had for those six years were the happiest i've ever been. Adam was my dad, he called me his daughter. And i loved him. And there's always going to be a part of me that will love him despite what he's done. You can't erase six years of memories and love.

So yes, my tears are a symbol of my relief, my freedom now that he's gone. But i always cry for the man i lost when my mother died. I cry for the man i called my father because him and Adam are not the same.

"We will be meeting up with your social worker at the station." Officer Davis states, holding out a packet out tissues.

My trembling hand takes one, saying a small "thanks" as I wipe my tears. Realisation hits me like a truck. Foster care. With no living relatives and no one stupid enough to take me in, foster care is my only option.

My tears continue to run down my face. I thought that this could be end of the abuse. Maybe this is just the beginning.

"Let's go, Sweetie. We will come back for your possessions."