Our Tainted Dream

Seven: A Home Called Hell

Not a home, But a haunted house.

"Papa, are you alright?" He groaned, sheets of papers scattered across the coffee table, and a hand massaging his temple.

"Do you need some water?" I asked, but he didn't respond, leaning his head against the soft leather couch.

I quickly rushed towards the kitchen, taking an empty glass and filling it with water. Mum smiled at me as I walked pass her, waving my small hand. She waved back with the wooden spoon in her hand, the whole kitchen filled with the aroma of her cooking.

Loureis sat on the carpet, barely more than two. His eyes wavered over the documents on the table, once or twice wanting to touch it.

"Ah—!" He squeaked, knocking over a tower made of building blocks.

"Here," I said quietly, handing the glass of water. I did not expect a thank you, and I did not get any. But I did not expect him to rage.

With a loud grunt, he swung his arm towards me, the glass flying across the room, shattering loudly and water staining the carpet.

Loureis flinched, covering his head as if a bomb would explode. I flinched too, drawing my hands away, the peaceful silence a while ago turned into shouts and yells.

"Are you blind?" He stood up with a vicious will, slamming the papers in his hands onto the table. "Or are you just stupid?"

Before I got to answer and make everything worse, mum stepped in. "Daniel!" She scolded angrily, turning the stove off and dropping her wooden spoon. "He was just trying to help!"

She lifted my small brother, putting him far  from the broken shards before he even thought about touching them. "Well I don't need his fucking help." He hissed, stepping towards her with long strides.

I stared at my shoes, worn, scratches here and scratches there. They continued to fight, screaming at one another like cats and dogs. And slowly, I found myself staring at the broken glass across the room, slowly walking towards it.

The next thing I knew I'm picking it up with my bare hands, one by one until my hands bled red. Mum sighed, withdrawing before the screaming turns into a fist fight.

"Why do you have to be so problematic?" She muttered, and father did the same, stomping to his room with his papers.

Mum saw me picking at the glass, her eyes widened as she ran towards me, picking me up like she did to my brother. "Reid, darling don't touch that." She scolded, taking my hand. I stared at my hands for a little too long before realizing the vivid red seeping from the wounds.

"I—I'm sorry—" I sputtered. But she didn't rage like father would. Instead, she grabbed my hands, looking over the thin cuts.

"Are you owkay?" Loureis asked, innocence laced onto his voice, struggling to pronounce.

Mum took me to the kitchen across, turning the tap on. "We need to clean it." She said, "It'll hurt a bit. But my small bean is strong, right?" She smiled, and it was anything but comforting. It only made me worry.

The water traveled down my fingers, seeping slowly into the cuts. I flinched, a small whimper escaping my lips. "Weid, does it hurt?" Loureis asked once more, struggling to say the letter R. I nodded, drawing my hands back from the cold water.

Mum took a bandage from one of the cabinet drawers, gesturing for me to sit at the couch. Loureis followed, sitting beside me as mum crouched in front of me. She wrapped the fabric around my cuts, gentle and careful not to make it too tight.