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“Chip?” I whisper. “Are you in here?”
There’s movement under the bed and he crawls out. His eyes are red, as if he’s been crying. God, I hope he didn’t see our father hitting me.
“I brought you a PB and J sandwich. I thought we could have a picnic in here.”
“I’m not hungry. Can I go to bed?”
“Sure, buddy. Want me to tuck you in?”
He shakes his head and climbs into the bed, pulling the blanket over his head. I feel like shit, but I can understand not wanting to talk right now. Belle cries a bit louder, so I put the tray on the nightstand and carry her bottle with me. Lifting her hurts, but I try not to let her feel the tension in my body. I read somewhere that babies can pick up on your mood, and I never want to do anything to make her, or Chip, feel bad.
She latches onto the bottle, holding it with her hands. I can’t believe how big she’s getting. I sit in the chair next to the window, looking out while she feeds. My thoughts are all over the place because I know that it’s dangerous to focus on a single thought right now. So, I zone out while she fills her belly. After a quick diaper change, I put her in her crib and then slip into bed, careful not to wake Chip.
I’m not sure how long I lie there, on alert to every little sound throughout the apartment. Each hour that passes without my father coming into the room is a blessing. Eleven. Midnight. One. Two. Three. Four. Finally, the need to sleep overrules everything, and my eyes shut.
Belle wakes me up right on schedule at six. She’s letting out small whimpers that means she’s ready to eat again. I don’t know if my father is still around, but I sure as hell don’t want to give him fuel to come in here and hurt me some more. Or, god forbid, hurt one of the kids.
Chip is still sleeping as I gingerly pull myself out of bed and cross the room. Belle coos when she sees me. I’m lucky that she’s a sweet-tempered baby, mostly.
“Hi honey,” I whisper. “Are you ready for your ba-ba?”
She kicks her legs like she understands me. Lifting her proves to be a problem, but I work through the pain that shoots from my wrist, up my arm, and radiates into my shoulder. Holding Belle close, I close my eyes as I rock her. Mrs. McCarthy said she knew of a room that would be available to rent soon. It’s smaller than the room I’m in now and costs more, but it will be safe. I told her no at first, but now I think I should consider it. I have to get the kids out of here before he takes out his anger on them.
Quietly, I open the door an inch. His door is still closed, which means he’s likely passed out. Carrying Belle to the bathroom, I close and lock the door. Belle is happy to sit in her bath chair while I get ready for the day.
I don’t know the woman looking back at me.
Each time I see her, I hate her a bit more.
My eyes water as I take in the damage. My cheek is bruised, a reddish and purple map of my father’s damage. It spans from my temple to my mouth. My lip is scabbed from where he busted it. God, it’s so tender. I already know my arm is hurt, so I’m not surprised to see bruises marring my skin. My wrist is swollen. If I had insurance, I’d go have it looked at. No, that’s not true. I don’t want to draw attention to myself and raise questions that I shouldn’t answer.
All I want to do is take a shower, but I know I don’t have time. Not if I’m actually going to make it to class today. As tempting as it is to skip, I know I can’t. For one, my father is still here. Two, I can’t afford to get behind. Sighing, I open the cabinet and pull out my make-up bag. I know I cannot cover all the bruising, but maybe I can make it look a bit better.
By the time I’m finished, I’m almost in tears. The foundation shade is too light to cover much. Even with my hair down, I still look like I’ve been beaten up. But there’s no chance in hell that I’m going to hang around here, so I pick up Belle and make my way back to my room. I change, putting on a long-sleeve shirt and jeans. Too bad I don’t own a turtleneck shirt. It would hide the bruising going up my neck. My hoodie will have to do for now.
Chip wakes up as I’m changing Belle. His eyes are wide as he stares at me.
“Are you okay?”
I nod, turning my head so he can’t see the tears threatening to spill. “I’ll be fine.”
“Did Dad do that?”
I don’t know what to say. He’s six. He doesn’t deserve to know what a piece of shit our father is, but he’s also smart. I nod again.
His voice is small as he asks, “Is it because I left my toys on the table?”
This time I turn to him. “No, buddy. This isn’t your fault, and it’s not mine either. Dad has a drinking problem, and sometimes when he gets mad, he takes it out on other people.”
“Will he take it out on me?” His lower lip quivers.
“I’d never let him hurt you.”
He throws his arms around my waist. “I don’t want him to hurt you, either. Or Belle.”
I hug him back. “You’re a brave boy. Belle and I are lucky to have you.”
“I’m not brave. When I heard Dad yelling last night, I hid.”
