Somebody Else ✔

Knowing better.

Just an FYI for all my non-Australian readers out there; when we say a pair of thongs, we mean a pair of flip flops. As in shoes. Not underwear. Just for clarification :')

**

Izzy.

Edited.

My cousin had a knife.

From my place huddled in the corner of my aunts couch, I could hear her screaming out in the street. I rested my chin on my knees and sniffed, eyeing the worried faces of my family. I sighed and went back to my Maths homework, but I didn't fucking understand it, so I messaged the group chat with a recap of my night.

The screams outside the window rose in pitch. Mum tried to step forward, but Eddie forced her back, into the arms of her sisters. "Mum, stay inside," he said before going out there himself.

Stella, my cousin who had decided to smoke Meth before a family dinner, was already surrounded by enough people. Through the gaps in the slatted timber blinds, I could see her dad, Caden and her brothers, Tyler and Blaine circling her.

Her youngest brother, Lawrence, was still inside, being pinned up against the kitchen wall by my dad in an effort to keep him from joining the fray.

Aunty Chrissy was in hysterics, resting her head on Nanny's shoulder. My heart ached for Aunty Chrissy and Uncle Seb, as well as Lawrence, Tyler, Blaine and Stella. Though, I couldn't help but sigh and eat Woolie's mud cake straight from the box it came in — it was alright, it was a family dinner, and I hadn't eaten lunch, so it was okay, right? — cause this wasn't my first rodeo.

Maybe it was crass and unfair, but this was just the latest event in the Finlay family circus. When I was a kid it was camping trips and drunk aunts falling over themselves, as I got older it turned into a drunk Nanny who would call crying and then deny it in the morning. Not to mention the cousins and the brother I had, who I actively avoided when drunk or high, because the word terrifying didn't even begin to cover how they acted when they were.

So I sat on the couch, eating my cake, and scrolled through my phone. I don't think I comprehended how bad it was until Eddie ran back inside, insisting someone call the police. He was meant by unwavering silence. We never called the cops. Never. The family pride often choked us up.

"For fucksake!" Eddie shouted, the littler kids blocking their ears and hiding behind their mothers. "Now! Call them!"

Thirty minutes later, two uniformed cops walked through my aunts door. One must've only been early twenties — I think I even recognized him from Yorkie. The other though, was older than Dad. I noticed his eyes first — bright and green, like emeralds.

The first officer introduced himself and said he was going to take our statement, while the other officer looked around the cramped living room and exclaimed, "Stevie Harris!" And I just couldn't fucking do it. I got up, excusing myself from the lounge room, and ran into the kitchen.

I paced around my aunts kitchen bench, hands on my hips, biting my lip. My stomach turned with every step, and I had to stand over the sink, my hands on my head. I breathed in and out through my nose, the scent of the salt and the rosemary we had put on the meat we had for dinner making my stomach ache more.

Brett and Dad had followed me into the kitchen, and I clamped my hand over my mouth to keep myself from throwing up.

Brett kinda just seemed like the Boogieman, a legend and never real, but he was real enough to be standing in my aunts house and — Jesus Christ they had the same eyes.