It Would've Been You

II

𝐈 𝐓𝐔𝐑𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐁 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐀𝐂𝐊𝐃𝐎𝐎𝐑, stepping over the mess on the floor as I make my way through the kitchen, this was my way of avoiding any confrontations with my dad. He wouldn't know if I was at home, and I wouldn't care if he was dead.

I'm about to go up the stairs to my room but stop when I hear his voice, shouting, followed by the clashing of what I would assume are beer bottles. There is never a time when one isn't in his hand.

"Your mother was always selfish." He hurls a bottle towards the wall. It breaks into tiny pieces of broken glass, scattering everywhere. I rush into the living room, standing at my sister's side, quickly scanning her for bruises. She's visibly shaking.

"What's going on?" I ask, my question directed to Avery. Her trembling hands pass me a crumpled paper. My eyebrows furrow as I read the words.

I can't stay in this house any longer. I've packed my things in search of a better life. I'm sorry it had to come to this. I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me.

Take care, my beautiful girls.
Love Mom.

I look back at my sister, confused. "What is this?" Our dad scoffs, grabbing the paper out of my hand. His sudden movement causes my body to flinch in response. "Your mother packed her things and left." He says in an aggravated tone.

My mind is reeling. I can't fathom the thought of staying in this house, alone, with my dad. I can't. I'm not even eighteen yet.

He takes a swig of his beer, scanning the paper again, "Bullshit."

I wrap my arm around Avery, pulling her into a hug. I can tell she wants to cry, and she's doing everything to hold it in. I feel like crying as well.

I knew my mom was going to leave. She screamed it at my dad too many times for it to be an empty threat. In a sense, I was happy. It meant my sister and I would finally be away from our dad and all the trauma that hung over our heads.

What I didn't realize was we weren't in her escape plan.

She didn't care.

I sigh deeply, leading my sister upstairs. The minute my bedroom door closes, it's as if a dam breaks, and tears begin streaming down her face.

"Is she going to come back?" Avery sniffles. "She won't leave us here forever, right?" Her question breaks my heart because I don't know. I'm not able to take care of my sister. I can't even take care of myself.

I never had a normal relationship with my mother. The only conversations we had were after my parents argued. She'd come to my room to make sure we were okay. We weren't, but it was easier to nod and smile than break down in her arms.

My mom would try to build a relationship with me, but the older I got, the more fake it felt.

"Ava, look at me," I whisper, cupping her face. She raises her head slowly.

"We can do this, okay?" I let out a shaky breath, "Me and you. We'll get through this."

A stray tear rolls down her cheek, and I swipe it away with my thumb. Avery is so innocent. If I could erase the pain from her childhood, I would. Exposure to our parents' behavior from such a young age must have taken a toll on her. It did to me. I vaguely remember when Dad started drinking. I was thirteen, but it wasn't nearly as bad as now.

The little arguments they had over the dinner table turned into physical abuse. Our Dad went away for a while, and when he came back, it got worse.

It became a routine. Mom and Dad would argue. My sister would run into my room, and I'd lock the door. We would stay there, huddling together on the floor until our Mom barged in.