Chapter 1
"Where's my food? Damn it, Erica!" Dad yells as he slams his left fist against our small wooden dinner table, making me flinch.
Every day, Dad comes home from work angry, but today he's even angrier, and whenever he's upset like this, Mom and I are always getting hurt.
"I'm almost done Steven just hang on one moment please," Mom trembles as she shakily places the spaghetti on the white plate.
Mom appears tired in her wrinkled black nightgown with milk stains and her long curly brown hair in a tangled low bun.
"I've been working nonstop at the construction site for twelve damn hours, while you were here at home doing shit! You could have at least had my fucking plate prepared before I got home!" Dad slams his left fist again, and I can see his round face turn red and his green eyes darken with rage.
"I-I know I'm sorry. Here." Mom quickly turns around with a plate full of spaghetti and meatballs and walks toward the table. However, I think Mom walked too quickly because she tripped and fell on the cold ground, causing me to gasp.
Oh no. Dad is going to be mad.
"Erica! You fucking idiot, can't you do shit right?" He stands up, his nostrils flared and his face flushed.
I know what's coming next.
The next thing that happens always terrifies me. Dad kicks mom on the side of her stomach, causing her to fall completely flat on her back, groaning in pain.
"What the hell are you good for huh?" Dad yells, standing over her, rolling the sleeve of his white sweater up as she sobs and whimpers.
Then I hear another high-pitched crying from upstairs. All the noise they were making most likely startled Baby Wyatt.
"The b-baby is crying." I stutter softly and immediately regret it when dad looks at me with disbelief in his eyes.
The terror in his eyes made my stomach drop, and it all happened so quickly that I almost didn't notice when he reached over to me and his hand struck roughly against my face.
"A child needs to stay in a child's place. You don't speak unless you're spoken to! Do you fucking understand!" His words pierce my heart so hard that I can feel my eyes well up with tears.
"S-Sorry." My lips quiver as I mumble.
"Go to your room. I don't want to see your face for the rest of the night." As his eyes widen, the vein on his forehead pulses.
"Steven please, she had only eaten her school lunch today." Mom begs, her face drenched in tears, as she tries to pull herself off the floor.
"Who the hell was talking to you? All those glass pieces better are cleaned off the floor in two before I hit you again!" He snapped at her before glaring at me.
"I said go to your room!"
His booming voice startled me, and I jumped out of my chair and ran upstairs. Although I didn't want to leave mom with him when he was this angry, I knew there was nothing I could do to help her.
There was never anything I could do to help her.
Fortunately, the adrenaline rushing through my veins made me not feel as hungry. As I got closer to the nursery room, I could hear the high-pitched cry becoming louder, so I didn't go to my room as he demanded.
Wyatt's room is teeming with toys and neatly folded baby clothes. The walls are beige, with blue ribbons painted on them.
"Hey, baby Wyatt don't cry." I shush him as I pick him up from his white crib while he's swaddled in a blue blanket in an attempt to calm him down, but he still cries when I carry him in my arms.
So I take his green pacifier from his crib and place it in his mouth, and he stops crying right away. When his big brown eyes lock on mine, I feel a surge of protectiveness.
"See it's okay, you have to cry. Everything is-" My sentence was cut short by the sounds of my mother sobbing and my father beating her.
I shut the door quietly and carefully with my right foot, so the noise doesn't bother Wyatt.
"We can't continue to live like this can we, Wyatt?" I whisper to him as I bounce around, trying to get him to fall back asleep.
"You don't deserve to live and be treated the same way I was and Mom is too scared to do anything so...I guess...I have to save us. I don't know how though." I mutter, and he's already fast asleep; looking at his precious chubby face, I realize I have to do something to save us.
"I will save us. I promise I won't let him hurt you. I'll figure something out."
After gently placing him in his crib, I sit in the rocking chair next to his crib and wait for mom and dad to finish dinner while I figure out what to do.
When I hear dishes clanging in the sink, I know mom is doing the dishes and dad is probably drinking on the couch.
I knew exactly what I was going to do at that moment.
The only way mom, Wyatt, and I can be safe from him is if he's gone for good.
Mom is too frail and soft to save us from him, and I don't want dad to ever hurt Wyatt, so I have to do it.
I stay in the nursery room and listen in on them. I can hear the television downstairs humming, which means dad is watching his show while gulping down those brown glass bottles that make him woozy and dizzy late at night.
Then I hear the sink water being turned off, which means Mom is about to get ready for work. It's best to do this when Mom isn't around; I don't want her to get hurt.
I know mom will look for us as I wait for her to finish getting ready for work. I take another look at Wyatt, who is sleeping peacefully and appears to be an angel at this moment.
Mom opens the door gently, and when she sees us, she smiles, but it's a sad smile.
"Riley, I see you being a good big sister to your baby brother huh?" She says kindly as she softly closes the door behind her.
"Yeah," I respond with a small smile.
"Here, I got it from the snack jar. Don't tell daddy okay?" She takes two chocolate and peanut butter bars from the pocket of her black pants.
"Thank you." I thank her as I take them from her hands and place them on my lap. She bends down to my eye level, and I notice the sadness in her eyes.
"I'm sorry baby. Tomorrow morning when I come home from work I'll take you and Wyatt and buy you a big breakfast before you go to school okay?" She promises with a kind smile, and I notice she's trying to conceal her black eye with makeup under her left eye.
"Okay, Hey mom, would you be happy if dad wasn't here with us?" When I inquire, she tilts her head to the side before responding.
"I'd rather n-not say, but um...I have to go to work now. So remember the rule, when dad starts acting...unsteady... take Wyatt and his baby bag to your bedroom and lock your door okay. His baby bag has loads of milk, diapers, wipes, and his other pacifiers." She explains as she stands up to tuck her white blouse into her pants and tie her hair into a low bun.
"Okay." I hate it when mom leaves us alone with him because it leaves me to care for Wyatt alone, which means I can't get any sleep in the middle of the night. Of course, I don't tell mom this.
"Good I love you." She adds as she bends to kiss my forehead.
"Love you. Goodnight." I watch her reaching over to kiss Wyatt on the cheek.
"Night my babies." When she leaves the room, she gently closes the door, and a chill runs down my spine.
Everything was going to change after this night. What we knew as normal was no longer going to be.
Which is good.
After tonight, mom will no longer be hurt by dad, and she will no longer have to put makeup on my face and arms to cover the scars.
Which is good.
Wyatt will never know our dad.
Which. Is. Good.
After I finished the bars Mom had given me, I leaned back and rocked back and forth, waiting for the sound.
The sound of dad's heavy thumps on the hallway leading to the upstairs bathroom. After he eats, he drinks heavily until he gets sick and runs to the bathroom to vomit, then he spends the rest of the night sleeping with his head dangling over the toilet seat.
Every night was always the same.
As time passes, I look over at Wyatt sleeping to remind myself that I'm doing this for us.
Then I hear heavy thumps running through the hallways and I know it's time.
I tiptoe over to the door and gently open it just enough to hear dad gagging and spitting. Then I wait for him to be completely silent, which I know won't be long.
When I don't hear anything but the hum of the television after a few flushes, I carefully open the door and leave it open behind me. I look over to my right and see dad on the floor, his head over the toilet, a sight I'm used to seeing.
I stare at him for a few seconds, looking vulnerable and unaware; this is the only time I can do this. When he is unconscious and in deep sleep.
Tiptoeing I saunter down the stairs, making sure not to make any creaks, and then past the kitchen and living room to the white garage door.
I quietly turn the silver knob and let myself in, looking for the gallon of gasoline in our cluttered garage.
"Where is it?" I carefully searched the room for it, eventually finding it under Dad's old grey car.
"Finally," I whisper, then grab it by the handle and thank my lucky stars that it's full.
After that, I tiptoe upstairs again, making sure not to step on any floor creaks. When I get upstairs, I place the gallon upright on the floor near the bathroom door. Then I go to Mom and Dad's room and take their grey accent chair by their massive white bed.
I struggled to carry it through the hallway after picking it up, but I was determined to get it by the bathroom. When I did I took a deep breath and slowly reached for the door, but before I closed it and I watched him.
I look at his short curls gelled back leaving a few strains in the front, and his round warm beige face hanging over the toilet seat as his lips drool inside.
I know the next thing I'll do will haunt me for the rest of my life, but if being haunted means giving Mom, Wyatt, and me a chance at happiness, then so be it, and so I carefully close the bathroom door before locking it from the inside.
Afterward, I return to mom and dad's room and look inside his black nightstand for a match, which I grab and place in the left pocket of my light blue dress. Then I tiptoe into Wyatt's nursery, grateful that he's still sleeping.
I take his dark green car seat and place it next to his crib, then gently grab him and carefully place him in the car seat. Then I take the baby bag and, once it's across my shoulders, I grab Wyatt's car seat with my left hand and walk us out of the room.
As I walk down the hall, my heart drops in my stomach and adrenaline rushes through my veins, and the pit in my stomach deepens.
I put the car seat down in front of the bathroom door so I can pick up the gallon of gasoline and twist the top open, and then I pour all the gasoline all over the floor right in front of the bathroom.
After I've poured every drop, I drag the accent chair across the floor and place it under the bathroom doorknob, and then I pull a match from my pocket and light up about six or seven sticks on fire at the same time.
I look back at Wyatt, who is sleeping, and whisper before tossing the sticks on the floor. "For our happiness." Then I look ahead and toss the sticks and matches on the gasoline on the floor.
Immediately, the fire began to pick up and spread quickly, and I grabbed the car seat and bolted down the stairs as quickly as I could. Before I knew it, I was at the front door, swinging it open and shutting it behind me.
The cool night winds gush against my face and dress, the cool grass from the front yard brushes against my feet, and the smell of smoke and sulfur fills my nose.
When I reach the sidewalk, I slow down and catch my breath as I turn around to see our house filled with grey smoke; I stand there and watch my yellow childhood home slowly burn down.
It didn't take long for all of our neighbors to come outside and start asking questions about the fire to me and Wyatt, but I completely ignored them and continued to watch the fire entirely consume our yellow house.
The next thing I knew, I was sitting in the back of a fire truck, consoled by a tall male firefighter who was holding Wyatt in his arms. Everyone kept asking me about my dad and how the fire started, but I didn't say anything.
I pray and hope that dad didn't make it as I watch the firefighters extinguish the flames.
It wasn't until one of the firefighters came from inside the house, sadly shaking his head that I knew dad was dead.
He's gone.
Dad's gone.
