The Protector

I

I was once a normal girl. The key word being 'was'. Things change over time, I guess. Or in my case, all at once.

Everyone in the neighbourhood knew me, I was the underaged alcoholic despite never actually seeming that drunk. I melded into the lifestyle 'drink to your death', but never really died. I was in the club from when the doors opened at nine and only leaving when they closed at five. I would then get ready for school or college and sleep through almost every class - the teachers never seemed to care.

Somewhere along the way, sleeping became less of a priority or necessity and more of a nuisance. My dreams would always torment me with the cold cruel reality of what my life had become. I may have adored shutting out reality with the assistance of all the drinks and ignorance, but the side effects were never kind to me.

Somehow, my body learnt to run on vodka and adrenaline twenty-four-seven. There was no dehydration, overpowering hunger or withdrawals. It was just survival. Napping through important information, drinking my spare time away, and staring into the unknown with a vial hatred; my hobbies.

Pushing my body to its limits was the only thrill I could feel anymore. It made me obsessed with finding any form of finish line whether that was getting black out drunk, collapsing from exhaustion, or anything else I caused myself. I was numb and would search through every option for some sort of pleasure. Breaking the rules of human anatomy was my only real ambition in life. I believed it was impossible to accomplish anything else with my life. That's why Monday to Saturday merged into one long liquor fueled night. Sunday was truly the day of rest.

My method of living certainly wasn't healthy, but I didn't have any other way to cope. I never met any issues with the lifestyle, so I didn't plan on stopping. I felt lost and abandoned by the Gods all of the time. I was only really alive when the pain from booming beats and burning booze hit the system.

Yet, for some reason, through it all, my Mother continued to support me. Sure she was concerned like any normal loving parental figure would be, but she cherished me and would help in any way she thought possible. If that meant sitting me down for a chat about my irresponsible activities, then that's what she would do. If she had to drag me off of the living room floor when I passed out, then she'd become the greatest weightlifter. She never pried, and wouldn't push. Looking back, I wish she had, though I doubt I'd have listened.

I'll never forget the phrases she constantly muttered to me when I'd become dead to the world: 'Don't lose yourself to this, you have bigger problems approaching. No matter how high or drunk you strive to be, your fate was laid out before you were even thought of. You're going to be just like your brothers, and you won't have the time to drink your feelings away then.'. She'd then kiss my head, tuck me in, and leave the room.

For years I couldn't understand what she meant. I occasionally made the joke of her being pissed or stoned because I constantly swore off the possibility of joining my brothers in the 'Worst Child' competition.

They abandoned us for a reason I didn't yet know. They were each around the age of eighteen when leaving. Without fail, they just vanished. For such a long time, I believed that their disregard for our Mother's emotions messed her up. No one wants their babies dropping off the face of the Earth. Yet, she always expected them and understood each time.

Originally, there were a total of four Whittroe children living together happily under the same roof somewhat peacefully. I was obviously the youngest, with three older brothers.

Luke was the eldest. He was the first of us to leave after becoming an adult. As the most mature and the only Father figure we ended up growing under the eye of, he promised to always protect me. Yet, he broke that promise three months after turning of age and fucked off with all of the belonging he could carry. His only remains were the crappy clothes he threw to the side after puberty. We didn't hear from him again.

My third brother, Jake. I hoped he wouldn't do the same, but of course the world insists on being a bastard that doesn't listen to desperate children. Merely two weeks after his birthday, he was also missing. The same course of action was taken on his part: no note and no evidence he ever existed. He took everything he ever had apart from the fucking furniture.

Then, finally, Lewis ditched me. He made the most cruel decision of leaving two days before turning eighteen - we didn't even get to celebrate with him one final time before he was out of our lives. The only thing that shocked Mum that time was his timing. That enraged me, I even left a hole in the bedroom wall.

There hadn't been much of an age gap between all of us. Two years between each of the boys while four separated Lewis and myself. We were the closer siblings, more like twins since he never outgrew his tiny stature. They were my world.

I was only ten when Luke left. I'd been petrified for his safety, and because I was a troublesome child, I blamed myself. I couldn't shake the concept that his departure was all because of me. Maybe our arguing, or the violent fights we got into pushed him over the edge. All I could think was 'it's my fault'.

As time went by, I became more and more empty as they carelessly rejected us. They left me with a distraught Mother that cried herself to sleep every night, pleading that her boys be taken care of in the dark treacherous world.

I made an oath on the day they were all gone. I swore I would never force our Mother to live through the same shit they hurled onto her shoulders. By no means was I a perfect child, but I was all she had left and by the Gods was I going to be the one to stay.

On that same night, I held her in my arms as she slept through her heartbroken sobbing. I was the one to fight off her depression. I was the one protecting her from gossiping neighbours, foul employers, and creepy men on the street. I saved us because they didn't want to.

Or that's what I thought at the time.

After everything, I wish I'd opened my mind and listened to her words properly. Just once would have been enough. Until it all came crashing down, I couldn't mature my mind enough to comprehend what she was always saying to me. It might have made me realise sooner that my fate was in fact set in the ashes of existence. Though it wasn't what she'd thought I was meant to achieve.

Instead, I was handed a pile of rotten crap on a searing hot platter that couldn't be touched unless you were willing to sacrifice your life. The Gods are real, and I think they may have hated me.