Père

Sorrow filled the air, as I listened attentively to the cries of help, with as much power as an ant to resolve. Battered and bruised, my mother's tear stained face looked me into each eye, merely holding eye contact for a few, meaningful seconds, as if hours had passed by. Her delicate, soft lips were quivering, as she whispers for I to leave, but I still watch in silence through the crack of the door left open, powerless and paralysed; my thoughts take over my pathetic, helpless self. The door handle, which I had placed one hand upon, felt as cold and delinquent as I. Stop, I kept telling myself, as my eyes began to swelter, with my desensitised actions as dry, confused, a tear falls delicately, and I too, began to cry.

She lets out a faint cry again, as my younger sister skips along, but as we meet eyes and I hush her ever so gently, she realises what's wrong and takes my hand, still looking deep into my eyes. "Are Mummy and Daddy going to get divorced?", she asked, and I told her it will all be fine. Pointing towards the stairwell, I excuse her. She tries to ask why but then I turn a blind eye. My thoughts become prominent once again. However, I began to question why I felt so pitiful, whether it was truly her fault, which she had made many of. She weaponised me, filled me with incessant needs, my childhood's innocence replaced with guilt, foreseen scarring in need of plasters; feeling fright rather than wishing for light.

The door is aggressively shut closed, her screams become more powerful and my condolences fade. Panicked, I run upstairs, calling for the police in fear of my Father, and the ambulance to end this inevitable pain. The door is slammed again, as my Mother runs up the stairs telling me to hide. But it is too late, my Father is here. I'm sorrowful but it's my karma I will face with sincere.

I'm sorry, Mother, my help was no use, let him take my life, it's okay, I promise I'll be just fine. Strike after strike, I began to feel numb as he picks me apart through his aggressive words. My phone is now shattered across the floor, as he condoles my imbecilic actions. Why would I call for the police's involvement? My vision is blurring, I'm afraid to say, and my Mother is in pain, with my sister in her arms. Just a few more seconds, I told myself, and my suffering shall be over.

Selfishly, I lie there, needless to say a word. My Father strikes again, but this time, it is him he who is taken to the ground. Arrested and taken away, my Father is never to be seen again. I am sorrowful for my sister's naïvety, and sincerely sorry for my Mother's pain. Everything is slowly healing over time, thanks to a Women's Refuge we have started a new life. And, through therapy, our trust is piece by piece, instilled.

However, as pitiful as the situation once seemed, I am now eternally grateful for what happened on that day. It has taught me several things, and without this occurrence, my outlook on life would not be as near distinctive as it is today.