SHE WAS FIVE.
The child was five when she lost it. Her innocence, the flower.
She couldn't even understand it back then, but she knew it was something bad – she knew that the man, the sick man, was a villain, a monster. And she knew that the things the man did weren't right. The naïve child understood it; she understood the look on the man's face, she understood the way the man touched her.
And she hated him, she was scared of him.
"Bubba, please don't leave."
She used to cry against her oldest brother's legs every time he left.
The little kid knew that whenever her brother was by her side nothing could hurt her, but whenever he left – everything, every shadow, every monster of the world found their way to the little child.
David was the worst monster. The sick man who sometimes placed his dirty hand on the kid's thigh, moved it up, all the way up to her lips. The man who loved to watch her every time she played, every time she did anything. Sometimes he even came to his room at night just to stare at her tiny little body.
But no one saw it – not even the little kid's soldier.
"You can play with David." They used to say to the little kid, not knowing that it was the worst thing to happen in the kid's life.
One day the five-year-old kid was left all alone with the man, the monster.
She couldn't remember much of it; her brain had done the job to make her forget all the trauma she suffered that day. Her brain had burned the images, at least tried to. But some of it the child was going to remember till the day she was dead.
The stupid naïve kid thought that if she was silent, deadly silent, the monster wouldn't find her – the monster wouldn't do anything bad.
She was wrong.
The monster did find her and that day the monster had something else in his mind – he had something sicker in his mind. A chuckle escaped his mouth as the little girl's ocean blue innocent eyes fell to his own dark and dirty ones. Her lower lip started to shake even though she knew that she had to be a brave girl, she wasn't allowed to cry at that moment.
She just couldn't stop it as hard as she tried to.
A horrified sob escaped the girl's mouth when a strong hand grabbed her from the floor and started dragging her tiny body to the living room. She was thrown to the couch like a rag doll.
"Keep it quiet, kid." The monster told her as another sob escaped the little girl's mouth.
The monster moved his face closer to the horrified kid, and he moaned as he placed his nose to her hair-
"Strawberries..."
His hand wiped the tears on the child's cheeks; he moved his hand against her tiny fragile body, until it touched the hem of her favorite dress. The monster raised the hem, and his cold hand touched the kid's stomach, making her shiver. He moved it lower and lower...
The little girl cried. It hurt, and it was not nice – the way the monster touched her, it was not nice. She wanted it to stop.
She begged him to stop, she cried, she screamed. But no one heard her. A little girl wasn't able to stop a grown-up man. The man took it from her. There was nothing to do, and the man took it from the little girl. Her life, her childhood, her everything.
The twist of a belt was the last thing the little girl remembered...
Unforgotten
The room was black, pitch black; not a single peek of light escaping the huge windows.
My hands were sweating as I tried to reach out for the night lamp on the bedside table right next to my bed. With trembling movements, I managed to turn it on, making the memory, the nightmare of reality, fade away along with the darkness. The monster was gone, the shadow of it; and I was okay.
Just a dream. No. Just a memory.
I touched my cheeks and felt the tears on my cold skin. I tried to wipe those away, but every time another roll of tears replaced the disappeared ones. I even had to place a hand on my mouth; I had to take my pillow to cover my mouth, just so a sob wouldn't make its way out of my mouth and echo through the deadly silent house.
I was okay.
But why was it so painful to breathe, why did the tears burn like acid, why did my body tremble so hard?
I had to leave the house – I had to leave. I could smell the scent of that memory; I could feel the air of that memory. The same walls were surrounding me like a prison, the house was trapping me inside the memory. I couldn't breathe there. I had to get out. A voice was telling me to leave before the man would come back. The monster was still there, hiding in the shadows.
I had to leave.
Grabbing a hoodie from my floor, I let myself sunk into the warmness of it. Slowly I let my legs touch the cold surface of my wooden floor. I tried to walk through it silently, but every step I took made the floor creak.
I walked out of my room and the bright light from downstairs stung into my eyes. The voices, the intense discussion, pierced through my ears. And for a moment I stopped. There were still people downstairs, awake, and I knew that it would make my way out of the house a lot harder. The voice telling me to run from the monster however was bigger. I had to leave now. I had to move.
I had so hard wanted to come back that I forgotten-
I had forgotten about the shadows of that memory that were haunting my every step. The house reminded me of it, the house screamed the man's name. Maybe I shouldn't have come back after all.
The stairs were cold and after every step I shivered. I let my hand brush against the railing, kind of leading me downstairs. As if I couldn't do that on my own. It was supporting my heavy body and if I had let go, I would've probably fallen. Why did the stairs feel so long all of a sudden?
It took me forever to be able to touch the hallway floor. But when I did, my way was clear. The front door was staring at me, it was telling me to escape. There was no one to stop me, there was nothing to stop me, but still I froze.
I let the conversation sunk into my ears from the little gap of the door to the living room-
"A little girl shouldn't be living in this life that we live, and you fucking know it."
My brain registered the words slowly but when it did, hurt flashed through my body.
I walked closer to see, to peek through the gap. I wanted to know who it was, who was the voice wanting me to leave. I didn't just walk through the front door like I was planning to do, I didn't escape – I let myself slowly look through the door and listen to the words of my brothers.
"The little girl is your sister, Edwin." My second oldest brother commented with a sarcastic chuckle. "Show some respect."
Edwin didn't seem to understand the point because he just laughed lowly-
"She's too innocent; the child wouldn't even hurt a fly. A child like her living with us is not good for us."
Our third oldest brother huffed.
"Speak for yourself."
"She doesn't belong here!" Edwin snapped, letting the bottle of alcohol on his hand drop to the floor and spread into pieces. "Eight years ago, she left, she left with mum, and that day she died. You can't just assume that everything will be 'normal' again when she walks through the door eight years later."
I died.
I was dead for my youngest brother, had been ever since I left. I was a ghost of that little girl, my hair was just a color, my eyes were blank, and my figure was seen through.
"What th..."
"If you don't appreciate my decision, my biggest will, of taking her back, you know where the door is." Weston cut our brother off just with a raise of a hand. "Don't be such a foolish teenager. She is our family, she is your sister, and I will not hear a word about your thoughts of her anymore."
"I'm just saying." Edwin rolled his eyes. "You know what I mean Weston, you damn well know what I mean."
"I do." Weston spoke with a low voice as he grabbed his brother's chin with his arm, making it look rather harsh and painful. "I however would never ever again send her away like father did. She's our little sister, and it is our job to repay her all the years when she was gone."
"You can't protect her."
"I bet." Weston chuckled sarcastically, letting his brother go. "I can and I fucking will."
"Okay, but I won't." Edwin shrugged. "And I won't change my opinion about the little princess; she's too innocent, and she doesn't belong here. She knows nothing about anything, she's an outsider, not even bl..."
Fuck – was heard when a hand was slapped against the youngest Miller brother's cheek. The whole living room fell into a complete shock and for a moment it was deadly silent. Edwin placed his hand on his cheek and breathed with a low sarcastic chuckle. Weston shook his head, grabbed Edwin's face, and whispered something roughly into his ear before he let go.
Our oldest brother casually corrected his suite jacket, and his eyes met mine through the tiny gap on the doorway, making him furrow his eyebrows.
I cringed but froze on my spot.
"You should be asleep." He spoke with a low voice, the other gazes turning to me too. "What's wrong?"
"I..." I stuttered, trying to avoid the gazes. "I couldn't sleep."
"And why's that?"
I couldn't just possibly mention a nightmare, not to speak about the running away part; I would sound like a little child. Innocent – as my brother had called me. I would just prove his point, and I didn't want to give him that joy. Not when his words really were like a stab to my heart; not when the words made a tear drop from my eye, stinging against my cheek. Never in my life would I want to give him that joy.
So, I just shrugged.
"It was a nightmare, wasn't it?"
I cringed again.
A small, amused chuckle escaped Edwin's mouth as he smugly walked past Weston. "What did I say, a little naive child?" He whispered into his brother's ear. He walked towards me, and I couldn't help but take a step out of his way. I flinched when he raised his hand, ready to feel pain, but he just ruffled my hair with a sarcastic smile and walked out of the room. Naïve child – he repeated, before he was gone.
"He's drunk." Charles spoke softly, seeing the fear and shock on my face.
"I should..." I started. "I should go."
"No, I'm sorry kid..." My oldest brother sighed, brushing his hand through his hair. "I should've known you were listening."
"It's fine..."
I started to move away but Weston was quicker than me as he raised his hand up and spoke –
"What was it?"
"What was what?" I closed my eyes, knowing very well what he meant.
The dream.
"The dream." He spoke with a low voice, furrowing his eyebrows. "What was it?"
"It was the same, wasn't it?" Bryson asked from the couch, a knowing look falling on his face – into his eyes. "The day?"
No – I was supposed to say, but the tears falling from my eyes let the truth come out of me before I was able to do anything.
It was really overwhelming. The stares of my brothers, I mean. They were all there, staring, but still no one said a thing. And the monster came back; the picture of my younger self struggling to keep the monster away came back to my vision. It was the couch I think; the stupid white couch which texture I was still able to feel under my back.
I did the thing anyone would've done in my position: I ran.
At least tried to, but a hand snatched my arm before I was able to get far-
"What are you doing?"
"Let me go!"
"No." My fourth oldest brother spoke as he tried to keep a grip on my struggling self. "What are you doing?"
The feeling inside myself was scaring me-
The walls around us were slowly getting closer and closer to us; the whole house was shrinking. The air was starting to sting my throat like it was poison. The tears were making my body dry. My heart race was getting quicker and quicker, until it felt like I was having a heart-attack. I was sweating like it was warm, but my body was shaking like it was cold.
I was going to throw up.
The grip was like his; the hand holding my arm was holding me the same way as the hand of that monster. He was trying to keep me from running, from escaping.
"Let go!"
"Jordan." Our oldest brother sighed when he noticed the panic on my face and the fear in my eyes. "Let her go."
"No, I got this."
"Let go, let go, let go!"
"You don't." Weston walked to us, not even once letting his eyes move away from me. "She's scared, and you damn well know why."
Slowly the pressure of my brother's hand vanished from my arm, but I didn't try to run anymore. I was too tired to do that, and the monster was faster anyways. I only took a step back, away from the gazes – the six pairs of burning eyes.
"Lilah." Weston spoke taking a step towards me. "He's not here."
"Don't..." I shook my head as he tried to take another step.
"Okay, I won't." He stopped, raising his hands up. "I'll be right here."
"I can see him..."
"I know you are scared..." Weston whispered. "But you need to look at me. I need you to look at me, okay?"
When my eyes met his eyes – the warmness, the comfort – the house stopped shrinking, I was able to breathe again, my heart started to slow down, and the heavy shaking of my body changed into tiny trembling.
The eyes.
The eyes had saved me from the monster once and I knew that the same eyes would save me from the monster again. The eyes stared at me, and I saw the guilt – the same guilt from that day when the eyes had seen the monster torturing the little girl. The anger. The hate. It was all still there.
"If I could change it; if I could change everything, you know I would..." My brother spoke silently. "In a heartbea..."
"Can I hug you?"
He raised his eyebrows.
"What?"
"Can I hug you?"
"What kind of a question is that now?" My brother shook his head as he opened his arms. "You know you always can."
I didn't waste another second.
A hug was all I needed. The arms around me would shield me from the monster, the comfort would make the tears in my eyes vanish, and the soft kiss placed on my forehead would make me feel safe again. The memory would fade away slowly, until the only thing left of the nightmare were the stained tears on my cheeks and the healing heartbreak inside my heart.
I let myself sunk into the warmness.
"I should've known back then, and I will forever be angry for not noticing it sooner. I will forever hold a wound of pain inside my heart because of that." Weston spoke with a low voice. "And I'm really sorry, but I promise you that you won't ever have to go through it again. I'll protect you, Lilah, I'll forever protect you and I will never let anything bad happen to you."
"I know." I breathed the words out. "I know."
My brother gave a tiny kiss on my forehead, before he pulled away from the hug-
"I swear on my life..."
Unforgotten
"Lil?" The voice of my third youngest brother boomed through the silent house. "You still awake?"
I raised my head up from the book in front of me and turned to look at my brother who was standing by the doorway of the kitchen.
The room was dark just like every other corner of the house. It was deadly silent. My breathing echoed through the whole house, and I cringed after every breath. Even turning the book's pages let out a loud sound to boom through the whole household and I was scared to wake everyone up. They were all asleep, deep in their dreams, unaware of the girl reading a book in the pitch-black kitchen.
I was still awake.
After the incident, the ghost of the memories, my oldest brother had promised to make sure that I fall asleep safely with no sign of nightmares. He had been right by my side, guarding every corner of my room. He had looked under my bed a hundred times and tried to reassure that the monster was not in there. He had tried to make me fall asleep – he really had – but he had fallen asleep himself before he had been able to do that.
I couldn't sleep and I certainly didn't want to wake him up.
"Uhu." I murmured as I watched how my brother moved to the fridge to grab himself a pack of blueberries.
"Does Weston know you are here?" He grabbed a stool and sat down, right next to me – closing the book in my hands.
"No." I spoke in a whisper. "He fell asleep."
"Right." He nodded as he grabbed one of his blueberries and showed it into his mouth. "You okay?"
"Yeah."
Silence.
"I'm sorry." He whispered lowly after a moment as his eyes glued into me.
"Don't be." I shrugged – grabbing a blueberry from the pack on his hands. "It's past, nothing can change it."
"We were all here, we saw him and we knew him." He brushed his hand through his hair. "How did it go past every one of us, how did no one see..."
My brother let his eyes fall to his hands and for a moment he was silent.
A low sigh escaped his lips, and he shook his head – he shook his head as if there was a voice repeating the word 'no' inside his brain. He closed his eyes, not letting me or anything else in the room crash into his vision. He was thinking hard, his brain was full of thoughts which he tried to understand and put into words.
It felt forever-
At some point I was sure that he was not going to say anything; I was sure that he would stand up and leave the room without another word escaping his lips.
"I played with him." He suddenly spoke, opening his eyes. "So many times, I played with that man. How did I not see it inside his eyes, how did I not realize?"
"You were nine." I commented. "How could have you?"
"But I should've known..." He let a long breath escape his lips as he finally dared to look at me again. "I... fuck..."
The funny one, the funny brother.
Anthony was always sarcastic; he was always laughing at everything and there was always a tiny smile hanging on his lips – always. But the guy in front of me was far away from that. The guy in front of me looked sad, he looked ashamed. His words were shaky, and his breathing wasn't steady. He looked almost vulnerable as he let the memories fall into his brain.
"You were so little..." My brother shook his head. "You were such a baby."
"So were you."
"And I'll always remember the pain on Weston's face." He murmured, shaking his head. "There is no thing called pain in him, but that day..."
"He slept next to me for like the next month." I let the tiny chuckle escape my lips, trying to lighten the dark atmosphere inside the room even a little.
"Yeah." My brother nodded, letting his lips twitch a little upwards. "He watched you like a hawk."
"He still does." A voice spoke from the door, making both of us jump a little. "Why are you two awake?"
Our oldest brother crossed his arms over his chest as he gave a look to his younger brother. He leaned his body against the doorframe and let his eyes speak for himself. Without a single word our brother made himself very clear for both Anthony and I; it was the look on his face.
The look was a mix of 'go to sleep now' and 'are you okay' – mostly the first one.
He didn't leave room for us to say anything as he spoke again-
"It's 4am."
"I couldn't sleep; not now." I answered, turning my gaze to Anthony. "I don't know about him."
"I was hungry." My brother shrugged.
Weston rolled his eyes.
"Take your fucking blueberries and go to sleep."
"Fine, dad." Anthony gave a sarcastic smile to him, before he turned his gaze to me. "You'll be fine, right?"
"Uhu."
The third youngest Miller brother made sure that when he walked past his older brother, one of those blueberries in his hands would hit his face. He murmured something like 'fucking blueberries' as the man himself caught the blueberry and put it into his mouth without even giving a single look to his younger brother.
I chuckled softly.
When Anthony was out, our oldest brother took his place and sat down on the stool next to me-
"You haven't slept at all, have you?"
"No." I answered. "I just can't."
"Why didn't you wake me up?" He questioned, his eyes falling to the book that I had been reading. "I thought you fell asleep."
"I didn't want to wake you up."
"Well, next time you will, instead of coming to the dark kitchen to read-" He picked the book and read the title. "-A good girl's guide to murder; should I be worried?"
"No."
"You are not going to murder anyone, right?" My oldest brother turned the book to read the summary of the book's plot. "Aren't you a little too young to be reading books like this?"
"Very funny."
He chuckled, giving me a look-
"What about a deal: I'll let you read this book another day if you'll come to sleep now?"
"Fine."
"Good." My brother placed the book to the island. "C'mon, let's go."