magnets | ethma

6

Emma

I just turned 15 and a lot has changed. Grayson and I are a couple and have been ever since a few months after my 12th birthday making it 3 years. Fuck.

3 whole ass years.

They've been great in all honesty. Monday morning kisses before school, rainy Sundays in his arms, holding hands wherever we go. It's bliss. Loving him and all his flaws is bliss.

He is so gentle with me and although he has his angry outbursts, he never has them at me. He cares about me and looks after me like I'm a delicate flower in his rough, dirty hand.

Which is what we are. He is rough and dirty around the edges and I was a delicate flower.

He, of course changed that. Utterly.

I left home. Dad beat Mom up.

Rough and dirty around the edges.

That's all it ever was.

Rough and dirty.

Horrible and nasty.

Disgusting and distasteful.

I watched as the poison tree grew up from under me and spouted over my Mother's head. Growing and spreading, creating illusions for my brother and I- delicate flowers.

But they were fake, dead and broken.

Distractions.

A hallucination for Micheal and I as our Mother became a victim of abuse. We were young, how could of we known that's not how men are supposed to treat women?

Don't mistake it for abuse against his wife because she was more than a trophy. More than to be just polished and kept away for no one else to touch but my Father.

But to us, a woman that would create you a home when all you had was a cardboard box. Someone that could paint you a picture of your dream place using only her finger tips. Capable of playing a happy Mother in a broken home so carefully yet so incredibly you believed she was a happy bride all of your life yet.

And as one of those delicate flowers- you believed.

Gullibly believed.

So we left.

He beat her till her bruises were the darkest shade of blue, that one couldn't recreate. Her blood stained and sunk into everyone's skin who she approached for help.

Helpless.

This happened when I was 13. We moved into a small apartment that I loved way more than I would ever love that big white house and all it's demons. Demons that would keep you up at night.

Those demons being memories.

How could we be happy if we continued to live at the Hell that we once called a home?

Micheal lived with Dad. I have no fucking idea why he would wanna do that. I still to this day am distraught at the fact my Dad brainwashed him so badly.

Would you walk straight back into Hell when you had a one way ticket out of there?

No. So why did he stay?

I miss him. It makes me wonder if Micheal was ever himself. Did I ever even see who the real Micheal was? He was always so quiet, biting his tongue so he didn't upset the monster.

I would love to meet the real Micheal one day but he's chained up right now and he doesn't wanna be free.

Olivia has helped me a lot. Mentally supported me like no other. Kissing my forehead and brushing the dust off my knees when I'm done begging God to let my brother come home.