I guess they were all wrong; home is where the hurt is. She cowers in the corner, her limbs have been possessed by the jitters of fear; holding on to her swollen cheekbone as she sniffles up the sobs and stifles in her screams. The children John, Lori and Stephen were asleep, school in the morning, which she had to get up for; another ball to juggle. She knew she would have to explain to someone in the playground about the cuts and bruises she could not make-up over or hide. How else can you say the best father, friend and son in the world, has taken his controlled anger out on the love of his life? I can't... I just can't...
His shadow from the middle of the living room graces a grim grave and overshadows her. She doesn't move a muscle so he wouldn't use his again. Looking at his art work he stands analyzing every angle and shade of red, chomping on a variety of meats sandwich from the packaging, the kids pack-up for school.
"Are you gonna' get up or are you gonna' sit there like a petulant child all night? ...I barely even touched you..." He grunts over a mouthful of food, his voice shakes the walls, floor and my soul. Her eyes glued to his shoes, she will see him move before the next attack. Defensive positions activate.
"So you're not talking to me now? I said I was sorry, didn't I?" The God monster grumbles, straightening up a photograph of our happy family, where did that idea go to? She shakes her head to stir her pot, revealing her eyes to him. "Listen, I gotta' get to work; we'll talk about this later. I love you baby." He walks over and kisses her on her scruff driven arid hair. He walks out the room; the rustle of a coat wafts from the hallway, the door opens and closes with a quiet whip.
Peace at last. She extends her shivering legs and walks over to her dressing-mirror. She sits in front of the mirror brushing her hair; each streak was prolonged and emotionless. She places her brush beside her make-up bag which rested on her table. She can't look at her reflection due to the black eye from her through-sickness-and-health husband. He recently lost his mother and began drinking heavy; every movement within a moment was classed as offensive which she paid with, in damage. She wipes away the tear from her eye with the ball of her hand, then reaches in her black leather bag and retrieves a ID pass for a Mentally disability hospital, Sandie Moore, printed in black bold letters underneath her photo. Who was this woman? Where has she gone?
The moon shimmers in through the window and reflects from her ID to her eye's, for a brief second the warmth from the light rests her soul and rejuvenates her, but the reality from her disfigurement brings her to the truth of life. She Inhales the air from her broken home and exhales the screams of her tortured insides. Sandie exits her bedroom and heads swift on her toes, silent down the dimly-lit hallway, checking each of her beautiful children has kept in their slumber and didn't wake to the scream.
Her house was unkempt, never unclean. Sitting on the toy clustered couch she stares into the blackness of the corner chasms, trying her hardest to find sanctuary in her madness.
"Sandie, you have to take a stand. Your kids are growing up so fast and you cannot allow them being brought up in this house. If you leave him now, wake up the little'uns and bolt for safety you'd be doing the right thing. He's not a bad father, only a bad husband. I know people will judge your accusation about your actions but you have to stay strong, this is your life and you will not fall further into pain. You've already made up your mind, Sand'. You still have you job and family, yes, at first will be hard to get on your feet and hold everything together but you must. He'll come for us, he'll come for your blood; but to ensure your children never witness this on any level, it is a sacrifice you must make. Now get up, get what you need and disappear before morning, c'mon, move. Holding in your cries, girl, you've shed enough for him."
She stands and suppresses her demons and doubts, walks into her children's bedroom, a gentle nudge shaking Stephen awake, he was the less likely to cry and make to loud of a noise.
"C'mon, get up, son..." She stands there.
"Where we going, Mam?" Rubbing his eyes opened. "We're going to stay with your uncle tonight, wake up the other two will ya'. I need you to do as I say and be strong and whatever happens after tonight, just know, I love you all." She stands a step backwards.
"Okay Mam, I love you too." The little man says, in his dry sleep voice.
Slick to her core, empathy of love no longer lives in her body. Disassemble heart and box it back up, consciousness will be her dancing partner tonight. Her wisdom and keen eyes have kicked into focus all the tricks she is pulling.
Rushing from the fear of what he could do to her, looking over her shoulder her head and thoughts seems loose. As a nightmare he may jump out from a bush or turn a corner and drag her back into the depths of the shadows, trapped forever without a voice. She has already taken the first step to freedom; no longer will she look back and plead for a breath. Will a cluster of kids and the rustles of plastic bin bags, keeping it all together is all she has to contend with in this battle.
"C'mon guys, keep up; we're almost there." She delivers with quivering warm tone. Her watered up eyes quickly find a vent as she looks up to the heavens for a morsel of strength.
"Where're we going?" Inquisitive Stephen pipes up, he was the smallest of the three but the others knew he was the smartest with his mind, when everyone talked he hung upon every word and took in everything as a sponge does. He was a Sagittarius; I know he has a side to him that he is not showing.
"We're going to your Uncle Jay's for a few nights." The close air and emotional snivels clams up her speech.
"What about all of our toys and the television?" The young one gargles his thoughts.
Sandie stops, dropping bags and kneeling down to his level. He sees the distress in her eyes but he overlooks it with a cunning gruesome smile; the other two toddle off singing away down the street.
"Stephen listen to me, I know you know there is more to all of this than the other two do. I am leaving your father; he is not a nice person to me and I cannot take it any longer. So if you were to look out for the other two, you would be helping me out so much." A tear drips straight from her eyelid.
"I know I don't like it when he hits you, I don't like to see you crying; it makes me cry. The next time he tries to hit you, I will hit him and then he will stop." Sandie could not believe what her youngest has just declared. She wraps her arms around him and keeps the flood of tears behind her squeezed eyes.
"One day I will kill him for you, Ma'." She faces up to him. "No, you do not talk like that, ever. I need you to be strong and keep all that anger inside and never show it; this is my fight for you all. Now c'mon, it just around this corner."
The youngster takes hold of a bag, dragging the contents across the floor while he holds onto her hand. The other two have a race each other back to their mother.
They arrive at the door step of Uncle Jay's, she opens the door and shuffles the rambunctious kids in; at that instance a car swerves around the corner and mounts the curb, the door flings open and out steps her devastator, the children's father. She stands tough but trembling inside, she chucks the bin bags through the doorway.
"You think you can just leave me... without a word and think I won't come take my kids off ya'!" He storms up in his macho voice, his thunderous rumbling stampedes closer to her.
"You can hit me as much as you want, we are done with you; you don't deserve to be a father!" She charges at him with her hands out, he hurtles for her, his fists at the ready to give her the only kiss he knows how to give her, the only love he knows how to bestow.
She scratches and he swings, the dance could lead to murder; neither backing down.
"Mom!" Is that Stephens voice or was it a daze spell from this kafuffle. She lets down her guard and spins around, out of breath. The next thing, she feels the need to lie down; he had sucker punched her from behind.
"Steve, come to me, mate. We're going home." He takes a couple of steps forward towards the youngster with his hand open for a clamp. Sandie tries wafting him away, her voice was broken.
Young Stephen walks over to him, shooting evil from his eyes he peers up at this towering man.
"If you touch my Ma' again I am going to stab you in you in your sleep, we don't want you here; you can have the television as your new family. I am going to be a grown-up soon, and as soon as I do, I am going to hit you for hitting our Mamma'." The young kid stands in front of his damaged mother, pointed finger and all.
"Hey – Hey –Hey!" He tries to dismantle his child's disobedience, holding his sons loving face in the palm of his hand whilst on the other side shows swollen knuckles. "There's no need for that... I am your father and I love you." The youngling interjects. "No you don't, you're no better than the bullies on the playground. You're a bad man... and... and we don't want you here. If you are still here when the police get here, I'll tell them you hurt us too. And if you believe I will change, as soon as I am big enough and strong as you, I will show you what sub-mu-mission really is. No one hurts our mam." The Dads eyes water up as he scopes over us all.
The bully pockets his hands; Uncle Jay comes to the door with the other two kids. Dad fidgets his keys and walks to his car and wheel spins away. Never to be seen again by the children.
Young Stephen tries his hardest to help his mother up. Uncle Jay runs over to aid his sister.
"Steve, go inside buddy." Stephen totters off. "Sandie, w-w-what the hell has happened?" He stammers with worry, wrapping his arm or armour around his baby sister.
"I did it. I left him, finally; I had to think of the kids and what they would have turn out as, if I had stayed. They could have seen him murder me." She fingers over her cuts and bruises, documenting her survival.
They enter through the door; she is picked up and carried off into the back of the living room by Uncle-Jay.
"Kids, give your Mam some space, okay. I canny' believe little Steve stood up to him, the kid has some major guts."
She shoots off into day dream land, thinking of what could become of her son.
"Yeah, I am going to have to keep an eye out for him, he has a knack for being a hero and not thinking of the consequences. He's not like the other two, they want to be dragons or a princess, and all he wants is to keep us all happy. He's my little angel." Her love for her children overpowers the hurt she has felt; its healing energy curtains this chapter in her life.
As the three played cards on Uncle Jay's gigantic glass table, Young Stephen stares out the window, the son of the sentry. He won't come back to hurt his wife or emotion void his children, not if the youngest looks after them all.
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THE END