War

Chapter Thirteen

A/N - back again 😛😛

TW: this chapter contains mentions of abuse, as well as hints towards sexual assault

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Marco
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I held the rubbery spoon in front of Ezekiel's closed mouth, waiting for him to open it so I could feed him some of the yoghurt that I'd just scooped from the small tub. Instead of eating it, he grabbed a piece of banana that was on the tray of his high-chair, half smashing it in his tiny fist and beginning to chew on it.

I turned to Elijah who was preferring to throw his banana all over the floor, hoping he'd eat the yoghurt instead- I didn't want it. I fed my brothers breakfast every morning usually, and because they were one now they could chew some soft things, and Emiliano was seven so he could eat anything.

I didn't eat breakfast, even though the teachers in school said it's the most important meal of the day..I didn't have time to eat breakfast.

I was only ten, but I had to look after my brothers.

"Marco, there's something wrong with Mama!", Milo ran into the kitchen and I turned around with a jump, dropping the yoghurt onto the floor, "sorry". Our father would've hit me if he saw me jump like that, so I was glad he wasn't in the house.

"What's wrong?", I got off of the stool I was sitting on, stepping over the yoghurt splatter and facing him; his bottom lip shook a little and I hoped he didn't cry- we weren't allowed to cry.

"She's like a statue again", he told me, looking behind him, "I thought she was playing a game, but she won't move". I hated when this happened, but I mostly hated when Milo saw her this way; the twins were too small to know what was happening- we all were, but me and Milo knew something wasn't right.

"You're not meant to go in her room", I told him, lifting him up by his armpits and putting him on the stool, his legs dangling and not reaching the floor, "make sure they're okay while I go up".

He nodded, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand and then picking up a piece of banana and handing it to Ezekiel; I looked at them for a minute before leaving the kitchen and going upstairs. I was scared of seeing Mama like this, but I wasn't allowed to be scared- I'd get hit if I was scared, and I still had a small bump on my head from two days ago when our father pushed me against a wall.

I didn't want another bruise, so I pushed open Mama's bedroom door and stepped inside slowly.

I also didn't know why Mama had her own room instead of sharing with our father, but I wouldn't want to share a bed with someone who hit me.

Mama was sitting on her bed with her back facing me, and just like Emiliano had said, she wasn't moving.

It didn't even look like she was breathing.

My heart felt like it was beating too fast, the same way it did when our father hit me with his belt, but I took a few steps towards her until I could see her face anyway. Mama was staring at the wall and I thought she was dead until she blinked, but she still didn't move; it was all my fault.