Sofía

Heavy thoughts

Tw: implied abuse and r*pe, on the part with the italics. Please don't read if it could be triggering in any way.

January 10th, 2016. New York City, NY.

Scarlett's pov:
Christmas and new years was hard, even if we still had a lot of fun and joy, but Hanukkah without my grandmother felt too... heavy.

Sofía has had some good days and some bad ones, but not as bad as before the holidays. I got my hyperactive, fun, creative girl back, and that's the only thing that matters, the only thing that makes me happy.

Today we are having a family day, or weekend, since it's friday and we plan on leaving my sister's house until late sunday. There's nothing special happening, we just wanted to spend more time together since Sofí and I will soon be gone for work.

Vanessa, been Vanessa, greets us with food, and when I say with food, I mean with food we have to help her cook, because what else would we do on a friday at 2pm?
Its a good thing we are a family who bond over this kinds of activities. And a good thing Van bought a lot of vegetables so Sofí can do her delicious special dish of roasted veggies with parmesan cheese.

Sofía's pov:
After we finish cooking everything, we sit outside and eat all together. I have so much that I end up laying on the grass next to Rose, who was playing with one of her toys.

The adults continue talking for a while, until they decide we should play something, and we are a very competitive family so it's always fun to play something. This time we decided on a little rally that involves a lot of running, jumping and throwing balls, which Uncle Hunter is not so good at.

We end up watching a movie in the living room, me sitting next to Mama basically on top of her. Everybody else in the other couches or in the floor because there are not enough sits for everyone, but there are so many blankets and cushions that everybody is comfortable.

I feel my eyelids grow heavy, and even tho I start to fight it, my eyes close at some point. And the images start, out of nowhere, no warning at all. But I can't open my eyes again.

I'm back in that ugly apartment in the south of Brooklyn.
With my five so called siblings, but we all know that in foster care everybody is basically on their one, even if we still care and look out for each other. It's a weird thing.
Everybody is in the living room doing their own thing, whatever they usually do before going to bed and try to get some sleep. I'm reading one of the books I took out from the library today.

But everything stops being nice when we hear our loving foster parent arriving to the building. He always slams the door of his car and the sound is so recognizable.
We all run to our room, to our beds to pretend we are sleeping. I quickly hide my book on the closet, so he doesnt see them.
Nobody makes a noise. We've learned to nit make a single noise, not even a squeak.

The door opens strongly making a loud noise, and the same happens when it closes. Sometimes falls and clatters on the floor. Probably some decor or his keys.
The voice of the angry man can be heard throughout the rooms. His steps getting closer to us by each second.

The door of our room opens. The girls room. The heavy smell of whisky and rum joining as well. It always makes me dizzy.
The man walks to one of the bunk beds, the older kids one, Sarah and Jamie. Old in the fact that they are above 12 years old and we, the other two are not.
~Get up~ he demands to one of them slamming his hand on the side of the bed.

Sarah is the one who gets up. I can see her shaking and making herself small, but she also knows is better to do as you are told on the first warning, and not on the second.
We know very well what's gonna happen.
It hasn't happen to me but I don't like it, and I want to go away from here. Go away before Mr. Randall decides I'm old enough for him to like me in that way. In the same way he likes all the older girls.