To Skin A Lamb

21

CHARITY

Hell.

My own customized hell. One that was designed just for me and my biggest fears. If this is what hell would actually be like then I needed to start going to church with Faith each and every Sunday.

Could you?

Could you sleep for 5 to 6 hours on a plane while knowing that your sisters are sleeping in the house with a madman? A rapist. A pedophile. A sick motherfucker.

If you find yourself saying yes then you need to reevaluate your ethics and ask yourself if you are just as bad as the person who does these terrible things.

But if you are normal and have a generally good moral compass you'd be terrified. Scared didn't even start with my feelings.

I wanted to feel sad about leaving Chiapas and grieve the loss of everyone there, but I honestly didn't give two shits. I love them, I really do, but I didn't care about them at all at that moment.

I cared about my family.

I couldn't save my baby brother. I thrashed in Justin's arms, attempting to jump into the freezing water to save him. I would have done anything and I couldn't do it.

I refuse to let anyone take another sibling from me. I would lie, steal, cheat, and kill to make sure that it didn't happen.

And I plotted it. I plotted a thousand different ways to kill him if he touched a single hair on any of my siblings' heads. I thought of the gruesome things that I'd do if I ever learned that he did even a fraction to them of what he did to me.

I paid the Uber driver double to speed in order to get me to Aunt Jessa's house. It was the middle of the night and I knew that everyone would be asleep.

But I learned a long time ago that the Devil doesn't sleep. He's wide awake, lurking in the shadows. Waiting. Waiting to prey on the innocent and defenseless.

I wasn't that defenseless, confused girl anymore. I knew what I'd do to keep my family safe and I didn't care what I'd lose because of it.

When I arrived at the house, I ran to the door. My suitcase be damned. I still had the key so I opened the door.

I hadn't stepped foot in that house since my mama left the mental hospital and I promised that I wouldn't come back. But I don't care about any promises that I made. I don't care about anything, but them.

I saw Justin sprawled out sleeping on the couch like he did when we lived there for that year. Deja Vu hit me like a bullet train, piercing through my heart. The amount of times that I wish he woke up and barged into my room to find Troy over me, completely shredding me to pieces.

I called his name harshly because I didn't have time to shake him awake. He flinched and looked around in confusion. When he saw me, his confusion grew. I didn't have time to explain, I just needed his backup (100).

"Follow me." I whispered and without hesitation or argument, he followed me. Because that's how we work. He follows me into the fire and I'd slaughter the world for him.

I quietly walked up the stairs and Justin trailed me. As I walked back up this familiar staircase, I cringed to myself and almost threw up at the scent. It smelled like peppermint and fresh laundry.

I didn't know that aromas could trigger you, but I was deeply mistaken. When I turned around the corner, not a thing changed.

The photos still hung in the hallway of seemingly happy moments. The doors were the same color, the carpet was the same texture.