“When did you get so wise, huh?” I say, while tickling her, to try to lift the mood more and take my mind off the fact that my baby sister is growing up way too fast and is seeing more than she ever did before.

  I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to protect her from everything that’s happening in this house, and I don’t want to ruin any of her innocence, but there’s only so much I can do to protect her from Mom.

  We spend the rest of the walk to her school, playing I Spy and me guessing everything incorrectly, even when they are the most obvious answers, to keep the smile on her face for a bit longer.

  The walk was a bit slower than usual today, the ache in my ribs and other bruises making it hard to walk, but we finally got there and just in time. The moment we get to her school, she sees one of her friends, and she takes off running, shouting a hasty “Bye!” over her shoulder to me.

  Laughing under my breath, I cup my hands around my mouth and shout, “Love you too, Chloe.” back at her, earning a few dirty looks from the parents dropping off their children.

  I’ve seen the way they look at me, some thinking I’m some teen mom, others with pity because they know my mom from the bar or have heard stories about her and assume I’m the same as her. All I want is to get my high school diploma and do online college classes while working so I can provide a semi-normal childhood for Chloe.

  That little girl is my reason for still being alive, and I will never allow her to experience anything I ever have. I need her always to be happy and smiling. Otherwise, I don’t know what I’ll do.

  Shaking away the thoughts, I make my way to school, trying not to let the pain from my ribs show on my face.

  These people are like vultures, one sign of weakness, and they zone right in on it. I don’t speak to anyone here, not like I’d want to anyway. The number of times I’ve been propositioned because of the work my mom does is ridiculous.

  Mainly from the football team, who can’t take no for an answer, so I try to keep my head down, do my work, and leave so I can pick up Chloe from school and get her home before mom leaves for the bar again.

  Finally making it to school, I can feel the sweat on my forehead, and a wave of dizziness makes me pause my steps to reorientate myself.

  I think Mom broke more than one rib this time, so I know I’m in for a hellish few months with healing, and I can only hope that Mom doesn’t decide that she needs to get her anger out again tonight.

  Steeling myself for the walk into school, I look up at the building as I make my way up the stairs to the main doors.

  The school is run down after years of no public funding, and the grey building is just as gloomy as the weather, telling me exactly what kind of day this is going to be.

  I hate it here, but I’m determined to get my diploma, so I’m not a high school dropout like Mom was.

  I go to my locker to grab my books, making sure I have the essay that’s due for English because Mr. Lorimer does not allow any excuses for late or missing work.

  He’s thankfully my first class, and when I enter the room, the class is mostly full already, with everyone talking and messing around while we wait for the first bell.

  I go to hand in my essay to Mr. Lorimer before I sit down, but luck is not on my side today, and the paper slips out of my fingers and onto the floor.

  I take a deep breath and bend down to pick it up, hoping that Mr. Lorimer doesn't notice the whimper of pain that slips past my lips.

  “Can I talk to you outside, Autumn?” He asks as he looks me over, stopping on my split lip and the way I’m holding myself to one side to try to take the pressure from my ribs.

  Fuck, I do not need anyone asking questions right now. I am so close to finally getting out we don’t need CPS coming around.

  Stepping out of the class, holding my dropped essay in my hand in a death grip, I take a deep breath as I turn around to face him as he closes the classroom door to stop the rest of my classmates listening too closely.

  It's not like it’ll stop them from speculating what this is about.

  “Are you ok, Autumn? You know you can come to any of your teachers if you are having issues at home,” he says sincerely, his eyes look almost sad when he looks at me.

  I know I’m not the most put together in the school; my clothes are worn from years of use because I have no other choice, and with the way I hobble around most of the time, but I want to finish this year and move on.

  “I’m aware, Mr Lorimer, thank you, but there’s no issues at home, I promise,” I reply in the sweetest tone I can offer right now.

  I hope he buys the lie.

  We’ve had CPS before, and the beating I got from mom because I told my maths teacher, Mrs. McKenna, a few years ago that she had broken my arm ended with me wishing I were dead after mom took her anger out on me for hours, but not before she had drunk an entire bottle of vodka.

  “Hmmm, ok, but if you do need someone to talk to, you know where my door is.” He reminds me. Mr Lorimer is a sweet old man with grey hair, smile lines around his eyes where you can tell he’s had a good life, always cracking jokes in class, and wears the cringiest ties to school every day because he thinks they make him cool.

  Today, he’s wearing one with black cats wearing bow ties on it, and it’s probably his best one so far.

  We re-enter the classroom after I give him a nod of my head. I place the paper on his desk as I walk past, then make my way to my desk at the back; I can hear the sniggering and whispers from my classmates.

  “Probably being bought, just like her whore of a mother.”

  “He was asking for her rates.”

  “Psst, whore. Were you offering him a blowjob after class for a better grade?”

  Tuning them out and ignoring the names, I pull out my notebook and pen and focus on the board, just hoping to get through the rest of today without anything else happening.

  “Okay, class, we’re learning about anthropomorphism today and how to apply it to our work.” Mr Lorimer drones on for the rest of class, and I try to focus as hard as I can, taking down everything he writes on the whiteboard.

  Finally, the bell rings, signaling the end of class. I rush out, hoping the teacher doesn’t try to pull me aside again, and rush to my next class. The rest of the day continues the same; at lunch, I sit in an empty seat, and try to drone out everyone around me with my music, and then finish the rest of my day.

  When the final bell rings, signaling it’s the end of the day, I rush out of school to get to Chloe’s before we get in trouble again for being late to collect her, but I know if I don’t pick her up, Mom certainly won’t, and I never want her to be sat around waiting for a mom like I used to.

  So, I try to jog there to get there quicker, ignoring my protesting ribs and shortness of breath.

  Chloe sees me before her teacher does.

  Mrs Fraser is Chloe’s class support teacher and is probably one of the kindest women I have ever met.

  She doesn’t judge us like everyone else does, and she always asks Chloe how her weekends were, even if it’s the same answer every time.

  Films and spending time with me, but she replies with how it must be lovely to have such a nice big sister and doesn’t comment on the fact that Chloe’s answers never include our mom.

  “AUTUMNNNN!!!! I had the best day ever! I drew a picture of us; look, it even has Bun in it, and I got to swap half of my sandwich for lunch with Lucy, so I had some tuna, and she had some of my peanut butter. Oh, and I played with dolls. And we played dress up, and oh my god, we did this…” her voice getting higher the more she says because she’s not breathing in between sentences.

  Chuckling, I crouch down to her level, “Breathe, Chlo; you have the whole walk home to tell me all about your day with Lucy and Mrs. Fraser. Remember to breathe while we talk so you don’t pass out.”

  I can’t help but smile at her while I try to get her to calm down. Otherwise, she’s going to be a bouncing ball of hyper four-year-old the whole way home.

  Maybe we’ll stop by the park to try to get rid of the energy on the way home from the shop after we get food once Mom leaves.

  Standing up, I wipe my hands on my jeans and turn to Mrs. Fraser, who’s smiling at Chloe fondly.

  “Thank you for waiting with her. I’m so sorry I’m a bit late, but Mom’s working again today, and I couldn’t get out of school early.”

  “Don’t worry about that, Autumn, I understand. Plus, I love spending time with this adorable girl.”

  Thanking her again, I take Chloe’s hand and make our way home, discussing what she’d like for dinner tonight, which, of course, sets off another squeal of “CHICKEN NUGGIES!” at the top of her lungs.

  I can’t bring myself to say no to her, so I promise her chicken nuggets after mom leaves and that we can watch The Lion King on DVD in my bed because even though The Lion King is Top 10 saddest movies, this girl is obsessed with Mufasa, no idea why because Simba is basically her in character with the sass and always getting into trouble.

  We get home, and Mom isn’t here, so I get Chloe her after-school outfit so that she can get dirty at the park while I freshen up and make sure none of my makeup has shown my bruises throughout the day.

  The last thing we need is neighbors and the parents at the park speculating about anything else. They already do that enough because of what mom does.

  I fix some of the makeup, shove my hair up into a messy bun, and grab the hoodie that was my dad’s.

  I don’t know how it ended up here after mom grabbed me and ran in the middle of the night, and even though I’ve been told he has never fought to try to see me, I take some comfort that this item was his and I try to remember the happy memories I had when we stayed with him and Brenn.

  I don’t know what I ever did to make them not want me anymore, but it doesn’t matter because I have Chloe, and she is all I need.

  I leave the bathroom and can hear Mom screaming at Chloe. Shit, I didn’t even hear her come home.

  I hurry to the living room and throw myself in front of Chlo just as Mom strikes, hitting my arm instead. I try to stop the wince, but Mom sees it and meets my eyes, seething that I’ve once again come between them.

  It’s always like this; she knows I won’t allow it to happen when I’m here, and she hates it.

  “That ungrateful brat deserves it! Look at her shoes; she’s torn them apart already, and I only just got her them! She’s just like you, a spoiled, horrible child. I wish I never had either of you!” she screams in my face.

  My anger rises the more she says. I don’t allow her to speak to Chloe like this, and I know if I don’t get Chloe out of here, she’s going to see something that I’ve tried my hardest to protect her from.

  I grab Chloe and pick her up, ignoring the stab of pain in my ribs, and carry her up the stairs to my bedroom. I hand her my phone with the headphones and tell her not to take them off until I come back, making sure the music is playing loud enough before I leave the room so she won’t hear what’s about to happen.

  My anger is simmering, but I keep calm enough until I leave the room and shut the door behind me. I rest my head against the door, take a deep breath, and prepare myself for what’s going to happen.

  I throw open the door to the living room and see Mom sitting on the disgusting red crushed velvet sofa with a smirk on her face, daring me to start this argument off.

  “How dare you speak to her like that, you horrible bitch!” I bellow at her, “She is four years old, and those shoes are months old and the only ones she has because you spend all the money on fucking drink rather than food and necessities for your fucking children.”

  I unleash all my pent-up frustrations on her because she is the cause of all of this; why couldn’t she have just been a semi-normal mom? But no, I get the mom who pimps my unwilling body out for more drink money because she decides to pour all of Chloe’s maintenance money down the drain for drinks, cigarettes, and buying her new flavor-of-the-month gifts so they stick around so she doesn’t feel lonely.

  If only she gave a shit about us.

  Me and Chloe could be enough; we would shower her in love because that’s all we want from her.

  I should hate her, but I can’t bring myself to sometimes because she gave me Chloe. I don’t know why she’s always hated me, but the week we left, she started to hurt me.

  Then came Charlie, my most enormous monster, who took my innocence when I was just ten years old. He acted like a hero for the first few months, but he got Mom drinking more, and the more she passed out from drinking at night, the touchier he got with me until it wasn’t just ‘innocent’ touches anymore.

  I look at my mom’s face, and I see no love there for me, only hatred; then, her fist is flying towards my face.

  I try to block it, but I’m too slow, my already broken ribs protesting the movement.

  She grabs her belt from the sofa, and I know what’s coming, so I grit my teeth when the first lash comes down on my wrist, cradling it against my stomach. I turn to try to take the worst of it on my back because I can hide it better there.

  She keeps striking me repeatedly, and I finally go down, unable to hold myself up any longer.

  I try my hardest not to scream, just in case Chloe does end up hearing me, and I know if she were to walk in at this moment, Mom would turn on her, and I can’t let that happen.

  So, I keep my mouth shut and let her tire herself out.

  I’m barely lucid when I hear the belt drop to the floor with a thud, and then Mom grabs my hair, getting right into my face.

  Her breath smells like a brewery; the smell of her rotten teeth, beer, cigarettes, and, oddly, garlic makes me try to turn my head, even with how she is holding my hair in a death grip.

  Jerking my face back to her, she starts to scream at me, spittle flying from her mouth onto my face, and all I can think about is wiping it off.

  “Who the fuck do you think you are speaking to me like that! I provide everything for you, and you do fucking nothing! I’ll fucking kill you next time you even try raising your voice at me again, then Chloe can take your place. She’d get lots of attention; I probably wouldn’t even need to work again.”

  She’s goading me, I know she is, but still, I give her the satisfaction of baring my teeth at her and gritting out, “You could try, Mom, but just know, I don’t care what you do to me. Beat me, allow men to rape me, blame me for your shitty fucking life if you have to, but you will not touch one hair on that little girl’s head, do you hear me?” Taking a shaky breath, I look her in her eye so she can see the truth in my words before I continue, “If I ever find out you have, I will slit your throat in your sleep and gladly go to prison for it. No hesitation. Remember that when you want to act like you are untouchable, Chloe is the only reason you are still alive because if she wasn’t here. I’d take us both out.”

  I see fear on her face before she wipes it away and smacks my face off the floor repeatedly. My head splits open, and I know I’m not going to be able to hide this, but she keeps going until I pass out. My last thought before I slip into the darkness is I really hope she’s got enough of her anger out, that she leaves me and Chloe alone for the rest of the night.

  Chapter 3

  Autumn

  My head is pounding, and I feel like I’m going to throw up.

  Slowly sitting up, I realize I’m still on the floor in the living room, looking down at the dingy carpet, which has questionable stains on it, knowing I need to vacuum at some point this week so the house is still somewhat liveable for Chloe.

  Getting my bearings, I stand up using the sofa to support me and then flop down onto it as a wave of dizziness washes over me.

  Groaning, I place my head in my hands, then wince when the gash on my head throbs from the pressure.

  I need to check on Chlo and worry that Mom might have done something to her while I was out makes me push myself up and gingerly make my way upstairs to my room, listening for any sounds of Mom moving around so I can try avoiding her.

  I promised Chloe that we’d go to the shop for chicken nuggets for her dinner and then to the park. Stopping just outside my bedroom door, I instantly regret not going to the bathroom first to clean myself up; I don’t want Chlo to ask more questions.

  “Ok, I’ll get changed, then take Chloe to the park to distract her, then the nuggets, then home to The Lion King, and hopefully, I can sleep off this migraine,” I mutter to myself, trying to produce some semblance of a plan and to distract myself from passing out.

  I creak open the door and sag with relief, seeing Chloe still sitting on my bed, listening to music and playing Cube Craft, blissfully unaware of anything that has happened.

  Making my way over to her, I sit down carefully on the bed and touch her knee to get her attention.

  She finally looks up from my phone and lets out a gasp; looking all over my face, I can see the tears welling up in her eyes, and her bottom lip starts to quiver.

  “Hey, hey, none of that, I’m ok, I promise, just a little sore, that’s all. I fought with the door, but I won, I promise.” I try to reassure her, but she’s having none of it. When I see her brow furrow, I know she’s debating what she wants to say.

  “I know that mom h-hits you, Autumn; I don’t like it. It makes me so s-scared. She b-b-banged the door when she left, and I don’t want her to c-come b-back. You, you said hitting is b-bad, so why does mom do it?” she stutters out while tears slide down her face, and I hate it.

  My heart is pounding because I never wanted her to know, and shame washes over me because I don’t ever stand up to my mom unless it’s to protect Chlo, and I don’t want Chloe to think I’m weak.

  What must she think of me for letting our mom treat us like this? I feel anger because we don’t deserve this life, and I know we won’t ever be enough for Mom to stop her lifestyle, which is not just slowly killing her but us right alongside her. And I feel sad that we have to live like this, that our house has mold, that we live in such a rough area that Chloe’s friends can never come round here, that she’s never had a sleepover, never got to experience the absolute happiness of staying up past her bedtime with her best friend, whispering and giggling with the thrill of getting caught, like I did with Atty.

 

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