The Protector

IV

Once the playlist ends, I flick off my music, allowing what I expect to be silence to wash over my body. However, instead of peace or maybe even Mum down stairs hoovering like she does when she's angry, there's several voices chattering in the living room.

Curious, my hand hesitates on the handle that leads to the rest of the house. A part of me knows that going down there won't end well. I want to say the reason is due to the fight and how I'm going to inevitably face off with a disappointed Mumma Bear. Instead, the reason isn't overly specific, but the dread building in my emotion's gut insists that something bad is approaching.

Swallowing the mass of air clotting my throat, I tug on the handle. Long strides bring me to the front door, the glimmer of confidence evaporating. I have a bad habit of abandoning conversations I'm not mentally prepared for, so it is never surprising that Mum busies herself in order to stick around and finish the discussion. She knows I reappear when I'm ready.

Everything in the last twelve hours has been too much for my tiny brain. I only have one brain cell which mainly focuses on keeping my body functional, so there isn't room for complexities. Being told what I thought had to be hallucinations are in fact real monstrous deformities is a big no.

"I'm back, we can continue." Silence finally comes, the voices vanishing. Maybe she was watching TV. I was kind of hoping she'd respond to my raised voice instantly since she doesn't like it when I shout in the house, apart from when I'm angry.

Coming around the corner to the archway, I find that my usual hook on the coat rack has been claimed by a large denim jacket. I can't actually remember the last time Mum let someone else into the house; neither of us like having people in our private space.

"Mum, do we have company?" I call out, puzzling together the random voices that suddenly cut off.

Receiving no response for the third time, I poke my head around the edge of the wall into the main room. Figuring that's where they have to be due to the whispers and shuffling feet, plus it is where she spends most of her time.

The sight that greets me puts my body into shock, so intense that my hand slips from the bricks that were holding me up. I almost forget to catch myself when taking a tumble.

The impossible image sucks all of the oxygen from my lungs, halting all thinking processes. I even manage to choke on the anger exploding within my heart, completely eradicating the tiny spark of excitement in organs just below.

Voice catching in my throat, some form of coughing sob floats into the air between us. Eyes clenching shut, then opening slowly to test if I once again have a screw loose because at this rate, I wouldn't expect otherwise. But of course the image doesn't change.

Casually, as if they haven't been missing for years, as if they didn't carelessly break my heart, as if all is right in the world, my three older and far stupider twats for brothers are lounging back on the grey sofa. The two eldest don't bother hiding their fear, sensing the bubbling fury in my mood.

Meanwhile, the baby boy is carefully perching on the armrest, fat tears welling in his eyes. The sadness crinkling his soft features will always wound me. Despite being four years my elder, he still looks far younger and delicate than humanly possible.

Not a single part of my body twitches. Every limb is stuck. Sweet, anxious smiles raise on their lips as they wait for the moment to pass, expecting me to explode like the ticking time bomb I am. Somehow, my eyes narrow at their nervous grins.

An exceedingly large amount of air exits my lungs through a manic laughing fit. Clearly I am sleeping and this is just a nightmare. It is still the day before my birthday and I'm just dreading waking up as the monumental day ahead of me is terrifying. I fucking knew it.