Although she mostly stuttered the words so that they were inaudible, Mother was attempting to read Cinderella to me, desperately trying to calm me down. However, getting increasingly louder, my thoughts drowned her out, repeating one statement over and over again: ‘It’s all your fault!’
Earlier that day Max - my younger brother- had been playing. Max was exactly one year younger than me, we shared the same birthday and freakishly we were born at the same time; 11pm January 28th. Ironically enough that was that days date.
Tag, that was the game we had been playing. It sounds innocent enough, but that wasn’t the case. I was playfully chasing him around the house - as I was, in the rules of the game ‘it’ – I had desperately trying to catch him until I luckily cornered him in the kitchen. I smirked at him, knowing I had won, as there were no escape routes from his position. I laughed a mock impression of an evil genius’ laugh ( like on a cartoon).
Then, I leapt forward.
As soon as my feet left the cool, black flooring, Max ran towards the back door.
“NO!” I screamed in fear, the sound scratched my throat burning it, as I had never used that much volume before. My pleas for him to stop were abruptly cut off as my face collided with the hard uneven tiles that decorated the designer kitchen I stood in.
Fear numbed the pain of the impact. However the fear wasn’t for me, but for Max. My thoughts were drifting back to a few days ago, when Mother and Father had warned us not to go outside unless with there supervision, no matter how insignificant the reason. Of course, they persuaded us to grudgingly agree.
I quickly looked up, to view the open backdoor and to check on Max, forgetting about the large amount of blood that was currently forming a pool beneath my face.
Sometimes, I wish that I never looked up, but I did and I saw everything in perfect clarity. People say that when something like this happens, your senses heighten, they did, much to my disappointment, Now it haunts me every night I sleep.
Max was running wildly on the thick ice on the patio area, next to our frozen outdoor swimming pool. His shaggy hair was flailing in the wind behind him, with a look of deep concentration across his face.
On the slippery surface, mid step, he lost his footing. My mouth was suddenly dry in fear while tears started to collect at my eyes. His body jerked forwards at an odd angle, while his head was violently thrown backwards. A look of pure terror crossed the angelic features of his face.
Suddenly his body hit the floor, his face plummeted into to ice with an echoing crash. I could hear the bones crunch and snap, sickeningly. Blood started pooling around his still body, spurting from hidden wounds. I could see the colour draining from his usually tanned skin, which was currently developing a blue tinge.
I screamed out painfully loud. The sound vibrated deep within my chest and shook my body.
Frantically my mother and father ran through the kitchen door, trying to locate the source of the screaming. They both paused for a second before running over to comfort me.
I pointed outside while I felt tears run down my smooth soft cheeks. My mother and father looked outside and froze. My father sprinted out the door while my mother picked me up and took me out of the kitchen so that I couldn't see Max anymore.
The last thing I remembered was Max's body laying still and pale on top of the ice. Then everything went black.
I was later waken up by my mother, who secretly, I think she was just feeling lonely. She seemed really distant and read Cinderella in a monotone voice while wearing an expressionless mask.
The door was suddenly smashed open, almost snapped off its hinges, so suddenly that I jumped back with fright. Once I saw that it was my father, I immediately relaxed.
"You! You bitch!" He screamed loudly at me, whilst pointing an accusing finger in my direction. "It's because of you! It's all because of you! He's gone. He's fucking gone, yet you're sat there, the least important gets to live, yet the most important has to die. You're a lousy stupid bitch who killed my son, you should die too. You whore!" He ranted on, but I was frozen with shock.
Max, Max was dead. Max was dead and it's all my fault!
I was so focused in my thoughts that I didn't notice my dad come closer. However my thoughts were disrupted when my father punched me straight in the face. I started to plunge once again into blackness, but not before I could feel him deliver a couple more punches to my face and torso.
CRASH!
The sound of something banging loudly freed me from my nightmare, only it wasn't just a nightmare, but also a memory of the day my baby brother died and the first day my father ever hit me.
Unfortunately, it didn't stay as a one off occasion, he's continued to abuse me every night and day since Max's death. Then he started to abuse my mother too, until soon he needed to release more anger upon us, so he started to rape my mother and me.
I was pulled from my thoughts by the sound of loud footsteps coming towards my bedroom door. I froze and hoped that it was either my mother or that my father completely ignores my existance.
Of course, my hopes were shattered, again.
My father threw open the door then kicked it shut loudly behind him. He walked directly to my bed and peeled the quilt from my body. His eyes quickly raked over my thin body -which was covered in his bruises - that was clothed in shorts and a loose, baggy t-shirt.
He leaned over and yanked my shorts down, off my legs and tossed them carelessly behind him. His hands traveled up my tanned legs and effortlessly pushed my legs open.
