Monophobia |Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick|

|PROLOGUE|

        the room filled up
  
             with teardrops from my eyes

[PROLOGUE]

THE DEAFENING SCREAMS Kyle could hear coming from his older sister sent chills down his spine. Their father had come home in another drunken state while their mother was off at work. He couldn't do anything, yet again. He couldn't fight. Ila's screams erupted along with welts. Kyle flinched with each one.

Molly was here with him, in the dark room. Her tiny hands grasped onto him for comfort while they listened to the sounds of their father's drunken rampage. Where did he go wrong? What did they do to deserve this? He slowly wrapped his arms around Molly, shushing the sobbing girl softly in his arms. If their father heard her cries—she'd surely be next. Though, he couldn't help it himself. Through the blackened room—he too began to cry.

"It's gonna be okay." He whispered through his silent sobs. Molly couldn't exactly understand everything happening. All she knew was—her siblings were in pain. And not just because of those anguish cries, but because of Kyle's silent cries against her shoulder.

The screams from outside the door died down into soft sobs, followed by shouting from their father.

"YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT I'VE BEEN THROUGH." He yelled. "YOU DON'T KNOW WHAT I'VE DONE FOR THIS FAMILY."

And he hit her again.

Over.

And over.

And over again.

Kyle felt the fear burning through her body shift to unimaginable anger. He never knew he was too weak—too small to fight off their father. But he swore, he silently swore to his sisters and mother that he would never let this happen again. Never.

And the house went silent. He was stuck in darkness.

—————————

"Hold still, this is gonna sting..." Kyle warned Ila, gently pressing an alcohol pad to the split in her eyebrow. The poor girl flinched, but forced a small smile to her lips. She was a strong girl, the strongest Kyle ever knew. Except for his mother of course.

"...I'm so sorry..." he broke the uncomfortable silence. "I should've—"

"Stop that." Ila scolded, gently taking hold of her brother's wrist. "He would've hit you worse.."

"But I can take it! I can..." tears pooled in his eyes. "I'm tired..."

"I know..." Ila gently kissed that boy's hand and pulled him carefully into her wounded embrace. "It'll all be over soon... I promise..."

"No. It won't be." Kyle sniffled, resting his head against Ila's chest. It was laced with bruises and welt marks from their father's belt. He could clearly see the 'Timberland' printing on her chest. "I promise... I won't let him hurt you again..."

"Kyle..."

"You, or mom or Molly..." He kept on. "I won't let him hurt you. I won't..."

Ila knew better than to heed Kyle's promise. He was just a small boy. So frail. Kyle was the sickling of their family. He was always so gentle and loving—always getting sick and always taking the longest to recover after their father's rampages.

"..." she sighed softly through her nose, and reached a hand up to cup that boy's face. "Okay... I trust you.."

He smiled weakly and nuzzled his sister's hand. That confirmation was all he needed. He knew she doubted him—of course he knew. But she was willing to put her trust in him just a bit, and that meant so much to him. He would never break her trust. He knew better than to.

"Mom should be home soon.." Ila sighed and looked at herself through her vanity mirror. "They're gonna fight..."

"I won't let that happen..." Kyle mumbled, wiping the blood from Ila's forehead. Damn. That wound wouldn't scab up. It was just open. "I'll call mom and tell her to stay away.."

"She can't stay away forever, Kyle. She's gotta come home sometime." She said, a hint of disappointment in her tone. "Is Molly okay?"

"A bit shaken up, but otherwise fine."

"He put you in the room again?"

"..."

Kyle hated talking about the room. The basement, in nothing but darkness. He was his own form of torture. Hearing the creaking walls and the heavy footsteps from upstairs. He never knew what to fear the most. The darkness, the solitude, or their rampaging father up those basement stairs. It was an agonizing game of pick and choose. He thought he'd be used to it by now—he truly did. But now he can't sleep without a flashlight being on. A small flashlight his mother secretly gifted to him on his 12th birthday.

He always hid it when his father would come into his room. Hidden right between the mattress and box spring. If his father ever found out he slept with a light on, he'd definitely be in for it.

"Kyle?"

He didn't realize he had zoned off. Dissociated.

"Yeah... he did.. this time with Molly.." he murmured softly, stepping back and letting Ila sit up properly. She flinched, and it broke his heart. To see his big sister in so much pain. He helped her stand up, and walked her to her bed. She practically threw herself down onto it with a soft groan.

Kyle stood at the edge of her bed, surveying her body. Her legs, arms and chest were laced with bruising welt marks, her left eye was swollen shut with a split on her eyebrow, and not to mention the bruising gash on her lip. He shook his head and gently brushed his hand over her arm, flinching back when she had winced away from his touch. She closed her eyes and swallowed nervously.

"You should get some sleep..." he said.

She peered her eyes open again, looking over at her little brother. She shifted to rest towards the corner of her bed and patted the spot beside her.

"But.."

"Please?" She pleaded softly, a small smile crossing her lips. "It'll make me feel better.."

Now who was he to deny something that'll make his big sister feel better? He nodded, slowly popping off his shoes and crawling into that bed with her. He laid against her chest, taking in her scent of her Japanese cherry blossom perfume. She slowly wrapped an arm around the boy, squeezing him close.

"It's gonna be okay..." she whispered softly.

Those words rang to tauntingly in his mind.

It's gonna be okay.

His stomach churned. Truthfully, he didn't know if things were going to ever be okay. Even if they escaped his father—where did that leave them? With mental and physical scars? With trauma? He didn't want to accept that. He never did, but he had to. He just wanted them to get out of there alive. That's all he wanted.

"It's gonna be okay..." he repeated.

Ila had long past fell asleep by the time he responded.