A/N - Hello all! While I'm not finding a lot of time to write too much lately, I still have plenty of ideas knocking around in this old noggin of mine. If you look at my list of stories, I generally write in four categories at most with the occasional branching out elsewhere.
Not the usual caveats! Yep, spelling is still usually spot on as Word is kind enough to underline anything spelled incorrectly, and I still use Australian / British standard English, otherwise known as proper English. However, I now have an editor / proofreader, fellow member
OhDave1
. He offered his services being a fan of my work and I gratefully accepted. All mistakes are owned up to by the author. Please remember this is just fantasy and I'm still an amateur.
Comments and feedback are appreciated as always.
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My sister left home as soon as she hit the age of eighteen. I didn't understand why at the time, being I was only thirteen myself and far too self-involved with my impending puberty to worry about too much else. I don't remember hearing many raised voices or arguments though I do remember lingering silences and the fact my sister was quiet around our parents.
With me, she was always the same bubbly personality. She loved her little brother. In fact, I'd say she doted on me. I knew rather early on that my father barely gave two shits about anyone in the family. He would go to work, stop at the pub on the way home, manage to get home three sheets to the wind, demand dinner, then sit in his armchair and complain about the world until he'd finally just pass out.
As for our mother, she'd done her best for both of us, but by the time I'd hit ten, she was having an affair. I didn't learn about that until much later, I just knew she was distracted all the time, barely tolerated my father, and was no doubt looking for an escape from the monotony of her life.
The day my sister departed, that was the first time I really heard my father unload on her. The things he said to her were so vile, even to my young ears, I knew it was wrong to be saying such things to your own flesh and blood. As for our mother, I think she was in the bedroom at the time, staying out of the way. I'd never seen my father hit my mother, but he had no problem raising his voice and he could be an intimidating man. I'd long learned to stay out of his way when he's on one of his tirades.
Sitting on her knees in front of me as I was perched on the edge of the bed, I leaned forward and I felt her arms wrap around me. "I have to go, Peter," she whispered, "I wish I could take you with me..."
"Where are you going?"
"Somewhere safe. Our father... He's not a good man, Peter, and Mum... She just doesn't seem to care anymore." She cuddled me a little tighter. "They don't know where I'm moving. I don't want them to know. I'm not keeping in contact with either of them. But you have my number. Please keep in touch and, if anything happens, you let me know and I'll help however I can."
"I love you," I whispered.
"I love you too." She leaned back before kissing my forehead. "Remember to call if anything happens. But I need to go."
I stayed in my room as I heard my father yelling at her again. I shuddered at the things he was saying. Thankfully, my sister didn't say a word in return, hearing her car start outside as our father slammed the door and swore some more. Then I heard him start yelling at my mother. No surprise she followed my sister out the door within a couple of minutes.
Thankfully, she returned later that night, after my father had passed out in his armchair like usual.
Though we kept in touch by phone, I rarely saw my sister after that for the next three years. She didn't come home for Christmas or anyone's birthday. On my birthday, she had Mum drive to a meeting spot, so she could take me out for lunch and give me a present. She looked far happier, smiling more than I could remember, her bubbly personality shining once again.
"Is everything okay at home, Peter?" she asked as we feasted on some juicy burgers and a mountain of cheese and bacon-topped fries.
"No. Of course not," I muttered, "Dad's worse than ever. And I think Mum's having an affair."
"I know."
"You do? About Mum, I mean?"
"How do you know?"
"I've heard her more than once talking to her lover on the phone. She hasn't been shy about heading out in the evening, all dressed up, and someone is picking her up and then dropping her off. And she pretty much disappears during a weekend."
"And Dad doesn't notice?"
"Probably why he's drinking even more nowadays. He's moved on from a case of beer to a bottle of liquor. Thankfully, that just makes him even sleepier."
"So what are you doing?"
Shrugging, I finally slumped and hung my head. "Existing at most. Mum's in love and probably thinks I'm old enough to look after myself. I'll be surprised if Dad even knows I'm still in the house."
"You're sixteen now, Peter, and you're allowed to choose..."
"You. Can I live with you, Jennifer? Please?"
I knew I was begging. She took my hand, watching her eyes start to glisten as she heard her little brother begging for her help. Giving it a squeeze, she managed a thin smile. "I won't bother talking to Dad, but I will be having a word with our mother when we meet later."
Feeling a smile form on my face, she kept hold of my hand for a few more seconds before we resumed eating. "How about you, Jenny?"
"The past three years haven't been easy, Peter. But leaving was the best thing I could have done."
"Anyone special in your life?"
"Not right now, but my little brother will be with me again sometime soon. I've missed him so much."
