Smooching Cousins

Part One - MELISSA — 10-YEARS-OLD

The pounding vibrated through the floorboards, the same rhythm as my hammering heartbeat. Why did Daddy and Mommy have to yell again? It squeezed the air from my lungs, making me feel small and scared. I wished Dylan was here. He always knew how to make the yelling disappear with his goofy jokes and wrestling matches.

Pulling out my phone, I fumbled for Aunt Lena’s number. My voice trembled a little as I spoke.” Mommy and Daddy are arguing again.” but she understood.

“On my way, sweetie,” she promised. “Hold on tight, I’ll be there as fast as my minivan can fly.”

All I can do is stare at the wall, willing the clock to tick faster. Maybe if I blink hard enough, Aunt Lena’s minivan will be pulling into the driveway. Dylan’s laugh would be like music right now, drowning out the awful sounds coming from downstairs.

I don’t understand why things have to be this way. Daddy drinks something clear that looks like water, but then everything changes. Mommy pokes herself with a tiny needle, and even though it makes her sleepy for a little while, it’s never enough. It’s like a broken record— she falls asleep, then wakes right back up, and the whole thing starts over again.

Even my favorite cartoons can’t seem to block out the yelling anymore. It feels like the volume just keeps getting higher, swallowing up all the silly sound effects and funny voices. Turning the volume up on the television wouldn’t help, anyway. My parents would just get mad at me for adding to the noise and take their anger out on me.

My heart thumps like a drum solo in my chest, a frantic rhythm that echoes in my throat with every shout. My legs wobble like jelly, refusing to hold me steady. Sometimes, when the shaking gets bad, I can barely walk at all. All I want is for Aunt Lena to get here, to scoop me up and take me somewhere quiet, anywhere but here.

Sometimes I just wish I could hit mute, like on the remote control, and mute my parents. Their yelling is like nails on a chalkboard, scraping away at my ears and making my head throb. And the words they use... Aunt Lena says they’re like yucky vegetables — bad for you, and definitely not something anyone wants to swallow. I promised Aunt Lena I wouldn’t repeat those yucky words, no matter how loud my parents shouted.

The boom that echoes through the house made me jump a mile. It sounded like a thunderstorm trapped downstairs, and right in the middle of it was Mom’s voice, louder and sharper than ever. Instantly, my stomach lurches.

I knew Aunt Lena said to stay away when my parents fight, to keep me safe. But a knot of fear twists in my gut. What if they need me? What if Dad wasn’t leaving her alone? Maybe if I peeked down the stairs, real quick and quiet, I could just see if everything was okay.

The world tilted as I reached the bottom step. A searing pain exploded in my side as Daddy’s arm slammed into me, sending me sprawling onto the cold hardwood floor.

My breath hitched, and a strangled cry escaped my lips. “Why did you hit me, Daddy?“ My voice, barely a squeak, trembled. Scrambling back, I put as much distance between us as I could.

My dad had never touched me like that before, not the way he hurt my mommy. Now, Aunt Lena’s warnings echoed in my head, a sharp rebuke.

Regret stabbed at me like a thousand needles. I shouldn’t have disobeyed. I should have stayed hidden, safe upstairs until Aunt Lena arrived.

Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring the edges of the room.

Silence hung heavy in the air, thicker than the anger radiating from my dad. He didn’t answer my question, just spun on Mom, his face contorted with rage. “Is she even mine, Alice?” The words hung like a rotten apple in the air. His body trembled like a volcano about to erupt.

Mom stared at me, her eyes wide and hollow. When Mom’s eyes met mine, a sliver of hope flickered. I reached out, yearning for her touch, for the comfort of her arms.

But she didn’t move.

Tears streamed down her face, carving muddy tracks through the grime.

My heart hammered a frantic rhythm against my ribs. “It’ll be okay.“ I wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come. All I could do was cling to the hope that maybe, just maybe, if I stayed perfectly still, this nightmare would soon end.

The world shrunk to the space between my feet, the hardwood floor suddenly a vast and terrifying ocean. Mom crumpled to the spot where Dad had shoved her. A strangled sob escaped her lips, a raw echo of the terror curdling in my stomach. Mom’s face is pale and etched with pain, reflecting the storm raging inside her.

I ached to reach out, to melt the ice in her eyes with the warmth of a hug. But fear, cold and sharp, kept me rooted. Every muscle in my body screamed at me to run, to hide, but my legs felt like lead.

Mom’s scream ripped through the tense silence, but it offered no comfort. Her words were meant for Dad, a furious rebuttal, but they landed heavily on my chest. “Of course, she’s your daughter, Bill! Why would you even ask me something like that?” Mom’s voice cracked, a raw mix of anger and despair.

If only we could curl up together, a small island of comfort in this storm of anger. Maybe then, the warmth of her embrace could chase away the icy dread that coiled in my stomach, a poisonous serpent squeezing the air from my lungs. But Mom remained frozen, her gaze locked on Dad, a silent battlefield playing out between them.

In that moment, the childish belief that a hug could fix everything shattered. This wasn’t a scraped knee or a bad dream. This was something bigger, uglier, and far more terrifying than anything I had ever known.

The frantic wish for Aunt Lena morphed into a desperate plea. I needed them both, Aunt Lena and Dylan, to swoop in and build a fortress around me with their hugs. Maybe then, the storm raging between my parents wouldn’t reach me.

Sadly, the fragile hope shattered. A searing pain erupted in my scalp as Dad’s hand clamped onto my hair. He yanked, jerking me off the floor, and the world tilted sickeningly.

My head slammed back, forced to meet his furious glare. “Go upstairs, Melissa! Now!“ My dad orders. His voice boomed, spit spraying from his lips like a grotesque rain. It landed hot and sticky on my face, but the terror froze me in place. My breath hitched, like a tiny animal trapped in a cage.

You spend all night dancing around for money, don’t you, Alice?“ Dad spat the words, his voice dripping with anger. “That’s how you buy that shit you sneak around using, right?“

Mom flinched, her shoulders hunching inward like a scared puppy. “It’s not like that, Bill,“ she mumbled, barely a whisper.

“Then why can’t you look at me straight?“ Dad roared. “Why are you always hiding things?“

Tears welled up in my eyes, blurring the edges of the room. This wasn’t how grown-ups talked. This wasn’t how my parents should talk. My breath hitched in my throat. “Stop it, Daddy! You’re being mean!“

He whirled around, his face stormy. “This isn’t about being mean, Melissa! It’s about the truth!“ But his voice cracked at the end, and for a second, I saw a flicker of something else in his eyes. Sadness, maybe?

“I want my old Daddy back,“ I whispered, tears finally spilling down my cheeks. “The one who tells me stories and tucks me in at night. Not the daddy who screams all the time.“

I don’t want to hear what my Daddy voices anymore. We have the same color hair, and our eyes are the same color too. Why does Daddy think I am not his daughter?

I don’t want to hear my daddy’s voice anymore. We have the same hair color, and our eyes match too. Why does Daddy think I’m not his daughter?

“Bill, please don’t do this to her. She’s innocent.” Mommy wipes her snotty nose with the sleeve of her shirt. “Melissa is your child, asshole. I haven’t been addicted to heroin all my life, have I?” My mother tries to spit on Daddy but misses. “She is your child. And you better never ask me that again, you big bag of dicks.” Daddy shoves me aside as he rushes over to Mom.

My wobbly legs give way, and I crash onto the creaky hardwood floor.

A sickening crack echoed through the room. Mommy’s hand flew to her cheek, a crimson stain blossoming where his hand had connected.

Terror flooded me, hot and thick. I scrambled on all fours, the rough wood of the table scraping my knees raw.

Dust motes danced in the sliver of light that dared to peek into the corner, illuminating my forgotten teddy bear lying abandoned on the floor.

Would this rickety table, this dusty haven, be enough to shield me? A silent plea escaped my lips, a desperate whisper, “Please, shadows, hide me.”

The shouts continued, a cacophony of anger and fear that clawed at my ears. With each raised voice, a flicker of hope ignited—maybe, just maybe, Aunt Lena had arrived.

Quickly, the hope sputtered and died as I heard the unmistakable sound of a struggle. The acrid tang of cigarette smoke filled my nostrils, a familiar scent that always accompanied Daddy’s worst rages.

My eyelids squeezed shut, trying to block out everything. Tears flowed, hot and silent, blurring the sliver of light at the corner. Each choked sob came out in ragged gasps, muffled by my tiny hands pressed against my mouth.

The rhythm of my choked breaths mimicked the rising and falling of the shouts in the room. Maybe, just maybe, if I was quiet enough, they wouldn’t know I was here. Or maybe I would just disappear.

Even though a part of me hates how scared my parents make me feel, another part of me can’t bear the thought of them hurting each other.

Stuffing my fingers deep into my ears, I try to shut out the storm of their voices. Wicked words, laced with venom, clawed at the edges of my blocked ears. Squeezing my eyes tighter, I sank deeper into the darkness, desperately wishing for silence, for peace.

The fight rages on, a relentless storm I couldn’t escape. In a desperate bid to silence the screams that echoed in my head, I press my back against the cold, unforgiving wall.

With each rock back and forth, a dull ache bloomed in my skull, a small, welcome pain that momentarily drowned out the chaos around me. The world faded, the shouts turning into a muffled roar. For a precious few seconds, there was only the rhythmic throb in my head, a warped sense of peace in the midst of the storm.

A dull ache throbbed in my chest, a constant reminder of Daddy’s blow. My scalp prickled where my dad had yanked my hair, the memory sending a fresh jolt of fear through me.

Each rock back and forth against the cold wall intensifies the throbbing in my head, a desperate attempt to drown out the storm raging inside.

My body trembles uncontrollably, mirroring the frantic rhythm of my heart. The harder I rock, the harder I bang my head against the wall and the more I yearned for the blissful oblivion of silence and numbness.

It wasn’t always like this. There was a time, before the cracks appeared in their smiles, before the warmth in their eyes faded.

Mommy used to sing silly songs while helping me brush my tangled hair after bath time. Daddy would patiently show me how to hold the bat, his booming laugh echoing in the backyard as I took a clumsy swing.

I would give anything to go back to those days, to have the mother back that used to love me, and the father that treated me like I was his princess.

A sudden warmth enveloped me. Tiny arms, strong for their size, wrapped around me. “Melissa, stop banging your head. Mommy and I are here now,” a familiar voice whispered in my ear.

It was Dylan, my cousin, his eyes red-rimmed but resolute. He held me tight, a fierce protectiveness radiating from him. “Everything will be okay now,” Dylan claims, his voice thick with emotion. “We are a team, and we will leave together.”

A choked sob escaped my lips.

“Always together,” Dylan promises, his voice unwavering.

And for the first time that night, a flicker of hope ignited in my chest. Maybe, just maybe, Dylan was right.

Every time my cousin and Aunt Lena came to my house when Mommy and Daddy fought, they took me away and made everything better. Furthermore, Dylan and I always walked out together.

Warmth enveloped me as Dylan’s soft voice muted the screaming around me. “Hey,” Dylan whispered, his voice gentle. “Remember that time I accidentally launched my toy rocket into Mrs. Hernandez’s yard?”

I didn’t respond, but my grip on him loosened slightly. A flicker of curiosity peeked through my fear. “Do you remember you and me spent all afternoon looking for it?” Dylan continued, his voice filled with amusement. “We even had to climb over the huge fence! It was like a spy mission, but way cooler.” A small smile tugged at the corners of my lips.

Dylan always brought calm to the storm. Aunt Lena would never hurt Dylan or me. Her voice, unlike my mom’s, wasn’t laced with anger. Aunt Lena’s voice is firm, maybe a little worried, but safe. It was my parent’s voices that were scaring me, and they were making it hard for me to hear Dylan.

I won’t tell Aunt Lena that Daddy hurt me and Mommy didn’t help me. The thought flickered through my mind. Unfortunately, I love my parents, even though they are mean.

Sometimes, a part of me hated them for the way they made me feel, but another part, a stronger part, clung to the memory of good times, of bedtime stories and scraped knee kisses. It was a confusing, tangled mess of emotions, and I don’t know how to untangle it.

Today was different. A new thought wormed its way into my mind, a thought so scary I pushed it down as quickly as it surfaced. Today, Daddy’s anger wasn’t directed solely at Mommy. His hand, usually reserved for her, had connected with my side and pulled my hair, leaving a burning imprint. It hurt, a different kind of hurt than the one that bloomed after a scraped knee.

I clutched Dylan tighter, seeking comfort in his small frame. A strange idea, a desperate hope, flickered in the darkness of my mind. Maybe, just maybe, it was the fizzy drink. The one Daddy drank from the tall glasses in the fridge sometimes. Because Daddy wasn’t mean like this—not until he finished those drinks.

A sudden surge of bravery, fueled by a fierce desire to be safe, replaced the fear that had gripped me. “Dylan,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the shouts coming from the other room. “Can you take me to Aunt Lena’s car, please?” My grip on his hand loosened, a silent plea for him to understand.

Dylan’s eyes widened in surprise, but a flicker of determination mirrored my own. He nodded silently, squeezing my hand back with a reassuring grip. “Yes, always together, Melissa,” he whispered, his voice firm.

Dylan’s hand tightened around mine, a silent promise. We crept towards the door, the floorboards groaning under our cautious steps. My heart pounded in my chest, a frantic drum against my ribs. I squeezed my eyes shut, picturing the familiar layout of the house. Each step felt like an eternity, the air thick with the tension of hushed voices and the distant rumble of a fight.

A gentle touch on my shoulder made me jump. Dylan, his brow furrowed in concern, pointed towards the doorknob. I reached out, my hand trembling slightly, and turned the knob with a soft click. We slipped out of the house, the cool night air a welcome shock against my clammy skin. Dylan led the way, his hand a steady anchor in the darkness. We tiptoed past the living room doorway, the sounds of the fight a muffled roar in the distance.

We finally reached Aunt Lena’s car, a haven of safety bathed in the soft glow of the streetlights. The car door creaked open, and I scrambled inside, collapsing onto the back seat with a sigh of relief. Every muscle in my body ached with tension, a stark contrast to the comforting hum of the engine as Dylan climbed in beside me. We sat in silence for a moment, the only sound of our ragged breaths.

As Aunt Lena drove away, the familiar sights of our neighborhood blurred into streaks of light. A tear escaped my eye, tracing a warm path down my cheek. I wished, with every fiber of my being, for a normal life, for nights filled with laughter instead of yelling, for days where my heart didn’t feel like it was trapped in a vice.

We arrived at Aunt Lena’s house, the porch light casting a warm glow on the driveway. Relief washed over me in waves as I climbed out of the car. Inside, the house was a haven of calm. Aunt Lena bustled around, her voice a soothing murmur as she prepared a drink. Dylan, ever resourceful, rummaged through a closet and emerged with a triumphant grin.

In Dylan’s hands, he held a mismatched collection of blankets and pillows. With practiced ease, he transformed the living room floor into a makeshift bed. He even produced a worn but well-loved teddy bear, its fur a comforting shade of brown. “Here,” Dylan says, grinning, placing the bear in my arms. “Mr. Snuggles will take care of the nightmares.” A lump formed in my throat, and for the first time that night, tears welled up in my eyes, not of fear, but of gratitude.

“You take the couch,” Dylan insisted, gesturing towards his creation. “I’ll be right here.” He unfolded a sleeping bag on the floor next to the makeshift bed. A surge of warmth filled my chest. Here, in this moment, surrounded by the quiet chaos of Aunt Lena’s house, I felt a flicker of hope.

As I crawled onto the couch, clutching Mr. Snuggles tightly, I looked at Dylan, a silent thank you hanging in the air.

Dylan winked, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Always together,” he whispered, a promise etched in his voice.

And for the first time that night, I whispered back, the words barely audible, “I love you, Dylan.” Tears welled up again, but this time, they were warm. I leaned my arm down the side of the couch, my hand reaching out until it found his. Our fingers intertwined.

“Always together,” I promised, my voice choked with emotion. Knowing my cousin would always be there for me, a fierce protectiveness blooming in my own small chest, I finally drifted off to sleep, Mr. Snuggles clutched tightly and Dylan’s hand warm in mine.