So, I'll break myself against your stones...

The front porch.

Vincent - 15 yo.
Bo - 15 yo.
Lester - 7 yo.
Trudy/Mama - 39 yo.
Victor/Daddy - 47 yo.

Vincent.

I watch from the living room as Daddy drags Mama down the stairs by her thick curls, kicking open the stained and muddy white front door. He drags her onto the porch and slams the door behind him.

I stand up, not in a particular rush stop it from happening because I knew better than to mess with Daddy. I wasn't as tall, or as heavy, or as old as he was and to add onto that he had his new thick leather belt on... It has a bigger buckle than his other belts, the thought makes me wince- imagining myself getting hit with it. Poor mama. Sorry mama. I wish I could help. I look over at Lester and point to the stairs telling him to go up there. He listens and runs up. Bo came out from the kitchen, a confused look on his hardened face, "what was that?"

I press my thumb to my chin, tapping twice, then I bring my open hand to my left side and swipe it right, touching my fingers together, then I touch my thumb to in-between my eyebrows and tap twice. "Mama and daddy." He nods and follows me to the window and hooks his finger on the cloth, hesitating before tugging it open. I press against his side, looping my head under his arm, my ear pressed to his neck.

We watch for at least an hour. Neither of us moved because that would make daddy notice and then come in and get us next. "Wonder what she did this time..." Bo occasionally muttered, talking more to himself than me.

I gently nudge his side, and he wrapped his arm around my shoulder and slightly guided me in front of him. Apparently I had whined or whimpered or something of the sorts watching mama get beaten.. because Bo hugged me tighter and whispered in my ear, "I know... I know Vinny. Mama'll be okay." I feel somewhat comforted by his words so I just believe them even though I know in the back of my mind that I really don't and I know mama won't be okay.

When Daddy finished up Bo pushed me away from the window and started shuffling me to the stairs. When my foot hit the first step the front door opened and I held my breath, preparing for daddy to come drag me by my hair next but I guess he went to the kitchen instead. Probably to drink or something equally stupid. I make my way up the stairs, trudging, barely able to even want to lift my legs at this point. Bo kept a steady hand on my back, helping me the rest of the way upstairs.

Mama died 6 months later from a blood pocket in her brain.