Not Like The Others

Chapter 8

TW: violence, domestic abuse

February 14th, 2008

At 4:00 that afternoon, my uncle arrived at the house to pick up my mother. They were going to an early dinner somewhere downtown since my father wouldn't get off work until at least 8, and he commuted an hour to get home.

I opened the door to greet him.
"Hello, little deer," he said smiling, wrapping me in a tight embrace. He was dressed in a pair of beige pants and a sweater with a coat over it.

"Uncle Eddie, you look so fancy," I blurted out, pulling out of his hug and resting my hands on his shoulders. He looked at me amused.

"Easy for you to say. How come I never see you in anything but pajamas?" He screwed up his face and made me giggle. I stuck out my tongue at him and he returned.

Suddenly my mother was behind me. "Emily, Rosalie will be here shortly," she said putting a hand on my shoulder. I groaned. Rosalie was the world's lousiest babysitter, I quite honestly would have rather lounge on a bed of rusty carpenter nails than spend my night with Rosalie Woodbury.

"Shush," she said. She reached into her bag and pulled out a ten-dollar bill. "Tell Rosalie to buy a pizza." My eyes lit up just slightly and for a second I forgot about having to be subjected to a night of Rosalie's mundane drawl while she sat on the corded house phone talking to her Debate Club friends. 

Soon enough, Rosalie had arrived and my mother and uncle gave me a kiss and a hug goodbye before heading out. 

--

Three monotonous hours later, Uncle Eddie and mom returned to the house. We played games by the fireplace, and it felt somewhat how a family should be. We watched a movie, ate popcorn, and the two shared a bottle of wine. Then, it was time for me to go to bed.

My mother tucked me into bed just under an hour before my father returned home from the bar. He had long forgotten about the Valentine's day holiday and anything it might mean for a husband and wife, and my mother wasn't at all disappointed. Nonetheless, she was having a pleasant Valentine's Day, to say the least. That didn't last for long. 

I was drifting off to sleep when I heard the front door swing open and smash into the wall beside it. Then came the screaming. 

"You fucking bitch," I heard him growl. I turned over in my bed and buried my face in my pillow. 

"Relax, Rich, just take a breath," Eddie said firmly. I heard a blow land, and my mother screamed. 

"Shut the fuck up!" my father yelled. "Where's the kid?"

My heart pounded rapidly in my chest and my mom gurgled, "Rich, don't touch her!"

I got out of bed and crawled underneath and watched the doorway. My uncle came running in to get me and he squatted down to grab my outstretched hand, but my father followed him and grabbed him by the neck of his sweater and punched him. My uncle wrapped his arms around Rich's waist and pushed him into the wall. My mom came running in with the house phone in her hand but she kind of just stared at it, forgetting how to dial. 

I crawled out and snuck past the mess in the semi-darkness of my room and ran through the house to my mother's bedroom. I searched the room, tearing clothes out from the dresser, rifling through drawers of makeup, before reaching under the bed. The three of them were still screaming, so I figured I had time. I grabbed a bin from under the bed and opened it, but it was filled with old birthday cards and crafts I had made for my mother. I reached under once again and felt a velvet-covered makeup box. I opened it and sure enough, inside sat the tiny pearl-handled gun.