"Night, baby", my mum tucked
my seven-year-old self into bed. She kissed my forehead.
"Remember, no school tomorrow. So no getting mummy up at 7am." Mum laughed. I laughed with her. The little things in life.
She kissed my forehead, and, on the way out, whispered "love you, baby". I muttered it back, as I did every night. My head hit the pillow and I was out like a light.
What seemed like seconds later, I was awake. Groggily, I held my arm out to check my watch. 11.30ish. Still night. Typical. Couldn't get a full night of sleep on a Friday night
could I?! I sighed and lay in bed. Better to try to get back to sleep than not.
It was then I heard the voices. They were loud, even although they were downstairs and I was not. I couldn't make out what was being said. A door was opened, presumably that of the living room. I could tell exactly what they were saying-or rather, yelling-now.
"I HATE YOU!!!" my dad was yelling. My mum came back with "I WISH I HAD NEVER MET YOU!!!"
My dad pleaded for her to take it back and 'BE REASONABLE'.
Silently I cried into my pillow. My pillow more often than not got my tears. Although this situation was not uncommon, it still broke my heart to hear their vile insults.
What followed was a handful of expletives I didn't understand at that tender age.
'They don't care', I thought to myself. They knew I was upstairs, sleeping-as far as they knew- and yet they insisted on their war of words every other night. They didn't care that it could be deterimental to my mental and physical health.
At last, silence. I creeped across my room to the bathroom to do my business. I was just making my way back to bed when dad caught me. He was in tears.
"Did we wake you?"
I shook my head. It was easier to lie than to face dad's long speech and apology when I told the truth.
"Did you hear anything?"
Again, I shook my head for the
same reasons as before.
"I'm sorry", he whispered and held me close. "I'm so so sorry". He was crying, I was crying.
I didn't need to hear his apologies, though. I had heard
them too many times before. The same could be said with my mum's apologies. They apologised too much. I knew they were sorry, I didn't need to hear it. They were all talk and no action. They needed to either make up or leave each other. Probably the latter. I wanted them to see what they were doing to me. But they didn't. They never did and they never would.
