Broken Clocks

The day... Part 1

(1)

Walking into her room. It was pretty much a normal day up to that point, I just got home from staying a little late after school with my friends. Me and the guys competed on who could throw a glass bottle the farthest, and whoever lost had to buy a round of drinks for all of us, but that plan sort of failed.

Every day I would came home and go upstairs to greet my little sister, telling her all the thrills of my day as I watch her eyes glow with fascination while she listened. She always seemed to love that part of the day, when I would come home and she would get to hear what my day is like. Mostly because father wouldn't let her go to school. He thinks it's not 'fit for a lady' as he says. But when he's not home, (which is often since he's usually out getting drunk or pleasuring himself to some sort of fine dining the rare times he's sober,) I teach her. All humans have a brain and are capable of learning, including women and I don't care if society doesn't agree.

I walked through the door and turned the corner to go up the stairs. Everything was so quiet, meaning Ever was the only one home most likely reading in her room which was expected. She has always loved to read. When she was little our mom would read to her, that is until she died. But then I took that over and eventually taught her to read.

Ever's room is the one directly at the top of the stairs. It has light royal blue walls and is filled with stuffed animals and little shiney things as most young girl's rooms are I suppose. It has a good sized window with white silk curtains, and her bed has a simple brown conifer. In the corner there's a little table with a mirror that balances at a slight tilt leaning against the wall, and of course all the shiney nick-nacks of hers are spread throughout the room. This consists of her glass trinkets delicately put on her window sill, and a jewelry box that was once our mom's use not for jewelry but for things like springs, little pebbles, and gears she picks up the rear times we go inside. She finds them fascinating, I swear she has the curiosity of a toddler. No doubt she picked that up from me and mom.

I walked into her room to find her huddled up in a ball sitting in the corner crying, she looked as if she was shivering. I walked towards her, with every footstep she compressed herself deeper into the corner. She was now pressed against the crease of the two walls and couldn't go any deeper making her little body look even smaller than it already was.

"D-d-d-don't touch me!" She squealed.

I noticed her dress was torn both at the bottom near her feet, the tear going up to about her knee, and at the neckline. My heart dropped into my stomach, I could hear the pounding of it as blood pulsed through my veins. The thud echoing in my ears as my breath turned thin and shallow. All of this making me feel sick and my hands, like my sister, had also began to quiver. I gripped them tightly to make the shaking as unnoticeable as possible as I crouched down next to her balancing on my feet.

"Ever it's ok, It's me, it's George." I said softly.

She looked up at me slightly with puffy red eyes, her face was pink with tear stained cheeks. For that moment she stopped crying but as soon as she opened her mouth to try and explain all that came out was a small squeak before she was choked back be her tears again.

I scooted closer and hesitated as I slowly wrapped her in a hug. She let herself collapse in my arms. Slouched over in an awkward position, her body both laying in my lap and leaning against my chest as she sat with her legs overlapped on the floor. She softly put her arms around my waist. She looked like a Raggedy Ann doll that had fallen slightly off the shelf from lack of support.

I could feel her body shaking as she went limp and I felt a small amount of weight go onto me. She's such a small and skinny little thing, with the palest of skin. She has long wavy brown hair. Spitting image of our mother, except for her eyes, her eyes are a vibrant yellow hazel. The only trait from our father she has as far as I can see. Me on the other hand looks quite like our father, and I am not saying this with pride. My father may have a handsome face but I don't think you even have to go skin deep to realize he's a damn bastard.

I have his strong facial features. Defined jaw, pronounced noise, rounded eyes, all of it. His long neck and fingers, even a similar skin tone. My brown eye and hair color come from my mom however, and I get the curliness in my hair from her to. I'd like to think I have her smile as well because I know I didn't have my father's, thank god for the small thing. But I wouldn't know, I don't really remember a real smile from her. Before she died she would always put on a strong face and try to look happy but if you saw her eyes, watery cages waiting to be opened or flooded over. The glossed over look of wanting to cry all the time, if you saw that you would understand how hurt she really was on the inside. Whether it was from the illness she had or other things it was there. But she never quit. She always stood for what she thought was right, and I now being old enough to understand agree with most if not all of it. So just because I look like our father that doesn't mean I have to act like him. Besides I will never allow myself to become the alcoholic ass that slumps around the house all day and doesn't do a damn thing. That is unless you count being drunk and throwing punches doing something.

One thing you learn when you meet our father is don't stand up to him, which goes against everything mom taught me but I'm not as strong as her. And neither are his workers but thats expected from men who need jobs, I'm just a cowered. See if you're one of his workers and try to stand against him you'll be fired without question and probably be beat to hell by a coworker or two that need extra money. If you're us you'll be beat to hell to the extent that he broke Ever's arm last year by grabbing it and flinging her into a wall. That was the first and last time he ever beat her, before that I took the punches and after I made damn sure that's how it stayed. But I never expected this to happen. And even if a mob of people finally had the guts to stand against him nothing would happen, not one single thing. His little rich community of greedy ignorant men will stand by him, he could murdered someone and nothing would happen to him. If you think it's hard taking down one have fun trying to take down four.

"Fa-a-ather did bad things George, very bad things he-"

"I know... it'll be ok I promise, ok?" I said cutting her off.

I assumed what happened when I saw her dress. That's why I didn't just hug her like I would any other time. And the sentence that just nearly slipped through her lips confirmed it. She had been raped. But I didn't want to hear her say it, I didn't want to hear the words. I told you I'm a damn coward, so much so I can't even confront the reality of what those words are. I'll always be a coward and I can't change that, after all I was raised to be one. No matter how much he denies it or how many times he calls me a fagget for being so timid around him my father wants me to be afraid of him. He feels contral in that sense, and no matter how much I try I will never get over the fear I have for him.

(2)

After a while Ever fell asleep. I quietly picked her up and lay her in her bed. She had stopped shaking and looked calm and peaceful, but as I looked at her I couldn't stop from feel an aching guilt in my chest. She didn't deserve the events of what happened to her. She doesn't deserve to have a father that acts like we are nothing or a brother that lets her down. I did, I let her down.

Damn you Father! And damn me too! Why didn't I protect her, how the hell did I let this happen to her? How could he do this I always knew he was bad but not like this. Or maybe the better question is why? She's only 12, a 12 year old girl that I have failed. I failed at being a big brother and now- now Ever had something happened that shouldn't have and why? Because I was at school? Because I stayed a little later out with my friends once the bell rang so we could compete at who could throw a stupid bottle for a chance at a free drink? Yes that's why, because I was too busy having a drink with my friends. I bet this whole situation started with father having a drink. Then another and another, until Ever found herself in the wrong place at the wrong time... I'm just as bad as Father.