Wicked Dance [Editing]

Thirteen

Matteo

I was ten when my sister, Emory, was born.

I could still remember that day, seeing her in my mothers arms, so small and chubby, a huge difference for when she grew up. I could still see how peacefully she slept, how my mother looked down at her, how my father stood proud, the feeling that blossomed in me at the sight of her.

It wasn't jealousy, not when I had a sister. It wasn't hate, not when after two miscarriages from my mother, we had her. What I felt was love, a deep love that would drive me to protect her after my parents death, that would make me do what I did after hers.

She didn't deserve what happened to her. She was too young, just eighteen. Too good. She just wanted to live, be normal, to play...

Our parents were murdered when she was five, I was sixteen- I saw how they died, how my mother begged and the memory haunts me, drives me. We weren't alone after that, not when we had our aunt- my fathers sister- when we had our grandparents, all of my fathers family. We didn't know our mothers family, my father hated them, my mother didn't even talk about them, not with what they did to her and my fathers hate was mine.

So we weren't alone but still, I was forced to grow up and take care of Emory. I was forced to be an adult at sixteen, trusting no one, not after what I saw, not with the family history. The only person I trusted was Emory, everyone else was a threat. It would take me years to trust my family, to grow and see them as what they were, family, important, close, trustworthy.

But that was after I turned eighteen, after I took the reins of what my father left us. Doing what I knew my father wanted me to do, making him proud, to not disappoint, doing what he had wanted to do.

I did it all even when I was tired and barely even an adult. I went to college for my law degree, I worked the banks, I took care of Emory and hid her from the world. I went through great lengths to protect my sister, changing her last name to our mother's maiden name, hiring a small army for her safety, keeping her close because I didn't want anything to happen to her.

It didn't work out. I failed as a brother. I failed everyone.

My sister could have been anything she wanted, she could have done anything she wanted. I made the world hers, anything she wanted, she had and she had wanted to go to Paris. Not to shop or to see- I had taken her over the years- but to go because the Royal Theater called her in for an audition after hearing her play at school.

Emory loved music even before our parents' death. Ever since she could walk, she'd make her way to the piano, playing notes- horrible one- but playing, moving her fingers with our mother, both spending hours on the piano until it was only Emory.

Music helped her after our parents' death. She got better throughout the years, composing her heart out, making me listen to her play- not that it was an issue, I loved listening to her play.

She was music.

I was supposed to take her but I was doing my work to be senator. I wanted to be the youngest, to get this over and then just get to live. I just wanted peace. My sister had no obligations, to follow anyone, to be anyone but herself.

I told her I couldn't take her. She begged to go, that an opportunity like that only came around once, telling me I protected her too much. "Matty please. I've been doing everything you've asked of me. I've not complained about the outrageous number of men that follow me. I've not said a word about my last name. I know you're afraid but who's going to hurt me? No one knows me. You've made sure I'm safe. Let me go. Let me do this. Let me make my parents proud. Let me make mom proud."

Her last words changed my mind. Maybe because even when she only had them for five years, she knew them as if they had always been with her. I made sure she knew how much they loved her. I made sure that she knew that no matter what, they would be proud of her.