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Thorn: Age 7
“Stop hitting him,” I hear Briar plead as the belt makes contact with my skin.
It hurts so bad. I don’t even understand what I did wrong. I haven’t left my room in like, well, since I was born. I might have opened the door a few times, and I know where our parents’ bedroom is since that’s where a lot of our punishments occur, but I’ve never left. Our womb warmer took Briar from the room, and the next thing I know, my stepdad is in here whooping my ass. I don’t know when she came back into the room. I don’t cry out, that only spurs him on. I do hiss each time the belt comes down on me. It hurts so bad that I might pass out from the pain. He stops what he’s doing, and I drop to the floor to look behind me.
“Shut up.” He spins around and slaps Briar across the face.
I do nothing, and that might sound like I’m being mean, but I’ve learned not to react. If I do, it will be worse for her. I bite back any remark, not wanting to bring more pain to her.
“I fucking hate you,” he sneers as he wheels on me.
I turn my back to him right as the belt comes down another three times. I swear I can feel my skin split.
“Please stop,” Briar cries out.
He does as he kicks me across the room before stomping on her chest. I swear I hear a bone crack before the door slams shut. The room is silent except for Briar’s tears.
“Thorn,” she wheezes as she crawls over to me, pulling me close.
“I’m okay. It’s you I’m scared for,” I tell her, probably sounding more grown-up than seven years old.
“I’m okay,” she gasps.
I pick up a rock that I have sitting in my room and hurl it at the side of Lennon’s house, hoping he’s home.
“Little dude?” he asks as he opens his window.
“She’s hurt,” I get out before he’s flying through the window.
“Rose?”
“I’m okay,” she whispers, trying not to take in too much air.
“I’ll be right back.” Lennon leaps back over to his window and disappears as I let Briar lay her head in my lap.
“I’m just going to sleep for a few minutes,” she says before passing out.
I’m guessing from the pain. The pain I endured is forgotten. I care about my sister, and I can’t lose her.
“You won’t lose her,” Lennon says as he climbs back in with a backpack.
It’s as if he can read my mind. I’m sure he’s telling himself the same thing.
“She can’t keep doing this for much longer,” I point out.
“We’ll be gone soon, all of us,” he says, pulling out a first aid kit and what looks like an ankle wrap.
“I hope so.” I hold on to that hope. Someday, we will all be in a better situation.
Lennon: Age 15
“I need to push her shirt up,” I tell Thorn, and he nods.
“She passed out,” he whispers to me.
It’s probably better that she did since it will hurt like a bitch to wrap her ribs. I raise her shirt up and hiss. There are bruises all over her chest, but you can clearly see a boot print.
“He stomped on her,” Thorn says.
