War

Chapter Seventeen

A/N - and we're back ❤️❤️ (I passed my exam‼️)

TW: mentions of suicide and scenes of violence this chapter

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┏━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━┓
Marco
┗━━━✦❘༻༺❘✦━━━┛

Aged 11

I didn't think I was breathing properly.

Usually my suits felt comfortable, but this one was suffocating me, making my chest and throat feel weird. I tugged on my tie a little, trying to give myself some more room to breathe; then I looked down at the twins who were holding onto Emiliano's hands, barely able to stay still.

They were two, they didn't understand what was happening.

Milo did, and judging by the way his chin had been trembling since we'd gotten up this morning he was doing everything he could to try not to cry.

I didn't want to cry, not even when we sat front row in the church and I stared at the coffin with Mama inside of it- I wasn't sad.

I was angry.

At him, and at her.

It was his fault Mama didn't want to be here anymore, and she'd left the four of us with him, knowing what he was like.

I hated both of them.

If my brothers weren't here, I would've found pills to take too by now.

"Take him, please?", my eight year old brother handed me Elijah, who was looking around with wide eyes, pouting at everything he could see. I wrapped an arm around the two year old's waist, holding him against me tighter when our father slipped into the chair beside me.

Being near him made me want to be sick.

"This shouldn't take long", I just stared ahead, wishing I couldn't hear him, "we would honour her, however the circumstances in which she died mean I cannot allow that- nor will we attend the burial". I couldn't breathe, yet I continued to stare ahead.

"But-,", Emiliano went to protest, his voice wavering and stopping all together when our father raised a hand.

"We have more pressing matters at home", was all he said, clearing his throat and facing the front, "you'll do good to remember she left you, she doesn't deserve your sympathy". I doubted my brother even knew the meaning of the word, all he wanted to do was say goodbye to our mother and grieve her like any normal person would.

Not that I thought we were normal people.

⋅───⊱༺♰༻⊰───⋅

We stared at the coffin containing Mama for ten minutes.

He gave us ten minutes to say goodbye, not out loud, in our heads, and then we were back in the car heading home where I was certain a beating was waiting for us.

I could read my father better than anyone: his silence was dangerous, the way his nostrils flared was dangerous, if he squeezed his steering wheel extra tightly it was dangerous.