Crimson Walls

In. Out. In. Out.

The harmonious, deep sighs of a four legged shadow opposite of me in the room filled the otherwise empty silence of the night. The heavy breaths moved slowly, making the midnight furred labrador twitch as though she were getting pricked by a spinning wheel.

Soft taps bounded their way into the blackened room and the owner of the steps lied onto the floor, her chocolate fur basking in the silver ink of the moon pouring through the crack in the curtains. She dragged out her breath, shut her tired eyes, and soon her breathing evened.

My cheeks stretched lightly, showing pearly white teeth that seemed to contrast the otherwise very dark house. I wanted to whisper thank you, but I was afraid to wake them; afraid to disturb their peaceful slumber.

"What are you doing up?" a strong voice ripped the silence in half.

I wanted to preserve moments like this; I wanted to preserve moments of utter tranquility you only receive in the odd hours of the early morning. So, I stayed silent.

He sighed, but not like the dogs' sigh of relaxation, it was more of a tired sigh. A kind of tired you aren't able to fix with sleep. Slowly, he made his way towards the center of the room and into the silver bath of light.

His raven hair was matted to his forehead as though he had sprinted to a Black Friday sale and the beauty of his hazel eyes were upstaged by the heavy bags hanging like a hammock beneath them. The light behind him outlined his skinny, athletic frame and turned his skin from borderline albino skin to more of a Godlike glow. He was only seven years my senior but it was as if he had the world's encyclopedias branded into his mind, despite his constant bad marks on progress reports.

"Aless, you should sleep," he sighed once more.

Eighteen years old and he sighs as though he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. A piece of me stung like a knife wound dripping in the venom of guilt because I knew I was the reason.

"I can't, Cole," I whispered, almost inaudibly.

He didn't respond. Instead, he lightly pushed the shadow on the couch, Nellie, aside and laid down with his hazel eyes trained onto the ceiling.

I can't remember how long we stayed like that, all I can remember is wishing for it never to end; I never wanted to leave the security I had felt then.

That was the last time I had ever felt security trapped within those crimson walls.

Around the early hours of the morning, our father had decided to grace us with his presence; he had come home smelling like he kicked a cat and it emptied the contents of its stomach all over his shirt as its way of revenge.

My stubby finger pressed itself to my lips in efforts to quiet his rambunctious entry, silently pleading for him to stay quiet; Colby's eyes were glued shut and I had preferred to keep it that way.

His heavy boots collided with the floor in a loud drop; fireworks would have been quieter.

"Please be quiet; Colby's sleeping," I whisper-shouted.

He slurred something along the lines of, "Don't tell me what to do," with a few curse words woven within. His body swayed from side to side like one of the lackeys on a ship, despite him being on solid land.

I stood up to my full, terrifying height of five feet and gently offered to help him to bed. Desperately, I had tried not to set his fuse off.

It was funny: I thought he had enough patience for a fuse in the first place.