I hope you're right

The Afternoon

I woke up. Again? I slowly sat up and looked around my room. However, is slowly realized, this wasn't my room. While the memories of this morning started pouring in, i realized i fell asleep in Emily's bed. This was Emily's room, but my sister was nowhere to be found. I stood  up, and walked to the door. My body still stiff from sleep. I opened the door and looked in the hallway, there was no one, but i could hear faint voices coming from downstairs. I quietly tiptoed towards the railing that looked out over the kitchen, and crouched before it. Between the wood of the railing i could see my sister talking to my father. Well, i shouldn't call it talking. She was angry, she was shouting. While my sleepiness cleared away i could finally hear them clearly. They were fighting. Emily was yelling about father's behavior and how he couldn't call himself a dad. My heart started racing. Panic came over me. Emily must have believed me so much, that she wanted to yell at him one final time before she couldn't anymore. But him dying today doesn't mean he isn't dangerous while he is still breathing. I couldn't even be completely sure if my vision was correct. How could she be so blind to the monster she is facing? The screaming was getting worse. I could feel my heart beating in my skull, a headache was setting in. I stood up, careful to stay hidden. What should i do? What am i supposed to do? I cant do anything. A loud noise distracted me from my thoughts. Glass shattering. I could barely see dad with a broken wine bottle in his fist, glass covering the ground by his feet. Emily was just inches away from him, screaming in his face. She grabbed his hand that was holding the bottle and yanked it free from his grip. While she stood there, glass bottle turned against my father, i realized how much i loved her, and how much i couldn't afford to lose her. I had to do something. I wanted to run down the stairs and scream so loud my vocal cords would fry. But i didn't. I was scared. Scared as i have always been. The stairs creaked, the voices were getting louder. And in a moment of panic, i closed my eyes, and i ran. I ran towards the stairs as hard as i could manage. And i pushed. Whatever was ascending the stairs was now tumbling down. I could hear the soft sounds of tissue bruising and bones cracking. Then it was quiet. I didn't look. I couldn't look. Because what i felt when i pushed wasn't the dirty jumper my dad was wearing. But something soft, softer than it should've been. Soft like Emily's pyjama's.