Helpless on my Own

A brief segment from a story I started, never finished. approx date stamp: 2010

My room is a battle zone. But at the same time, it’s a refugee camp. This small space is where thoughts leak out of my brain and wage war between the twists of the ceiling fan. 

I feel the ground shake. He’s come back. I feel like I should be down there, defending mom, but a sobbing incoherent wouldn’t help much. I’m so weak. I hear the smash of a now-deceased lamp. It’s crashing last words add to the chaos between my mom and the animal in the room below me. It disturbs me how such a relatively small man can hold such rage and destruction. Fear and frustration engulf my mind, my head spins. Through the salt water I see the headlights of another car pulling into the driveway. Evan's home. Evan will stop him. 

Doors open then close then open and close again. I hear my brother’s voice rising already. I hear more yelling, more screaming, more crashes. I hear the disgusting sound of his hide slamming into skin and bones. I sob harder, but I still hear my brother’s winces and my mother’s cries of fear. I bury myself under the pillows and try to stay quiet. I’m so weak.

Sometime later my door opens slowly. I can tell by the footsteps who it is. Evan closes the door and collapses onto my bed. I remove the pillow from my face. He’s breathing deeply with a purplish-black eye and a banged-up nose. He looks over and rubs my head. With an impossible amount of calm and even a weary smile, he articulates a casual “Hey there, how goes it?” This makes my eyes swell even more and a stubborn tear leaks down my face. 

                                                                                I’m so weak.