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It was the closest I'd seen her come to dying in a long time.
The image was still at the forefront of my mind.
The blood.
The wailing.
The feeling of hopelessness.
"Where are the nappies?" I asked when the cranky little shit was finally finished guzzling the four-ounce bottle I'd made for him. "He smells."
"I can do it," Mam started to say as she pulled herself into a sitting position.
"Stay down," I ordered, shivering at the memory of what I'd seen come out of her body just a few short days ago. "I can look after him."
Eyeing the nappy bag in the corner of her room, I balanced my baby brother in my arms and reached for it.
"Come on, ya little fatty," I muttered, lowering him back onto her bed and gently pulling his wriggling body out of his onesie. "Let's get this over with."
He stared up at me, all big eyes and cuteness, and I frowned.
"Don’t look at me like that," I warned.Like I can keep you safe."And don’t piss on me either."
"You'll make a great father in years to come," Mam said with a tremble in her voice.
"I'd rather die," was all I replied...
"Joey."
I wished she would stop talking to me.
Her voice made it hurt.
All of it.
“Joey, please.”
Reluctantly, I forced myself to look at her, feeling my heart shrivel up and die in my chest when my gaze took in the sight of my mother.
She was ruined.
Again.
She usually hid it well, but not today. Like a fresh coat of paint on the wall, my father had layered her in a fresh coat of blueish-green bruises.
I'd never seen anything like it, and that wasn’t an understatement.
She looked like a corpse.
Guilt churned inside of me, and I honestly wanted to die.
What could I say to her?
How could I form the words to tell her just how sorry and mad I was all in the one breath?
I wanted to hold her and shake her all at once.
As my lungs expelled the air I'd been holding in, I let every harmful feeling and thought of tonight’s events seep inside my head, hoping that they could somehow spark the flame of self-preservation inside of me.
