Eladea

Chapter 6

.....I know it's not Sunday but I had this all written out and I decided to publish it one day early. But I'm sure you guys are happy about it anyway.

Lance's POV

Sage Emmerson.

That stubborn, hardheaded girl.

That strong, compassionate woman.

My green girl.

I'd never admit it out loud, and I know she would never want me to say it...but Sage...she's my rock. Through the good times and the bad, the only thing consistent in my life...was her.

She had always been there. When I look around, she was the only one that wouldn't laugh at me. The only one that wouldn't make fun of me and the only one not to reject me.

I mean sure, I did "bully" her in middle school. But that was just cause I wanted her attention. She was learning to ignore me, turn the other way, just like everyone else in my life. I was desperate. So I tried to get her attention in ways that always ended up accidentally hurting her. And because of that she drew away from me in high school when I realized my mistake.

I'll never forget the devastation I felt when I learned she dropped out of school senior year.

The truth was, I needed her. I needed her and (though she would never admit it,) she needs me. Her home life was terrible. And...so was mine.

I didn't realize that I was in a bad home until I was about five. When I started realizing what the beer bottles around the house meant. When I realized what my father's screams were in the middle of the night. When I realized what my mom sharpening knifes when she was angry meant. ...When I realized what my first scar meant.

My mom, she was...to put it simply a bad woman. My dad used to say that she was the most wonderful and beautiful girl he had ever met when they first started dating. But after she had my sister...things went downhill.

She started drinking. Like, a lot. And she would hit my father in the middle of the night if he didn't earn enough money that week. My father was a good man. An amazing man. An amazing father. He didn't deserve to be treated his he was. My mom didn't deserve him.

And then, my mom moved on from my dad to me. She said she was helping me. Making me stronger. But I knew better. I knew that the scars on my chest and back didn't make me "stronger". But...I endured it...for my sister. I was eight when it started happening. Kira, my sister, was only a few months old. I knew that if I didn't endure it, she would. And she wouldn't survive it.

Then...the worst thing possible happened. When I was only 13, my dad was diagnosed with cancer. My mom, not working, didn't have the money to pay for treatment.

I'll never forget my final moments with him.

Holding his hand, he layed in the hospital bed. His hair shaved off and his skin pale and cold. He looked like a completely different man. With his free hand he stroked my face. He said "Be strong, son. Its gonna be hard. And I am so sorry I wont be there to protect you anymore. But you gotta protect your sister. Be resilient, and never stop fighting. I love you," he looked to my 5 year old sister. "Both of you." And just like that, he went limp. The steady tone of his heart monitor was the only thing I heard as nurses and doctors rushed past me.