Maisie Watson snaps from her dooze to the familiar grunts of Papa’s Ford sputtering downhill.

She lays for a breathless second, air hitches in her throat, crazily convinces herself that she has mistaken. A deep, cramp prods the bottom of her stomach, the sweet cherry pie churns into acidic fluids and mingles in her system. She feels drunk and sick, wanting to throw up.

Maisie rolls over to the edge of the bed, shaking Kai awake. He’s already alerted, body tenses. The keys chained to his bell loops jingles as he pushes himself up, grabbing his jacket.

His hands find hers in the dark.

Above their head, coming from the master bedroom, fumbles and crashes resonate as Mama gropes around for her gray, stretchy, worn knitted hoodie. Shrill scraping sound of slippers on the floor, hastily moving down the hallway.

Her stomach clenches tight. Dread pushing up, making her feels sick and alert at the same time. She flicks on the bed lamp. The dull yellow colour throws a meek imperfect circle into the empty space, just enough illuminates their faces.

“I’ve to get out of here.” Kai says, glancing at the ceiling. They both wince when they hear a car door slamming. The darkness blackens furthers around them, burrowing deeper into Kai’s strong jaws and skin and the bags below his eyes.

Maisie bare feet hit the floor. The cold stabs like electric charge throughout her body, sending a shiver from her toes to her lips. She reaches and embraces her brother, her hands tangling in her haste. Kai’s arms wound around her, powerful and secure. She gasps, sucking in a sharp breath, memorizing her brother’s stale Old Spice scent. Kai’s hold tighten around her chest. His winter jacket smells faintly of rabbit curry, smooth and puffy under her palms.

“I love you, I love you,” She whispers fiercely, over and over again. Her nostrils burns. Her senses aflame, with tears, with anguish, with regrets. “I love you. Know that, okay? I’ll always wait for you here.”

Kai snorts, but his nose presses closer to the hollow of Maisie’s neck, a strangled sob hardly escapes his clenched teeth. How ironic, isn’t it? Kai hates Papa with all his guts, yet Kai took off like Papa. Emotion is something tangible he can touch and own, yet he cannot describes or express.

She can feel his heart against hers, warm and strong and vulnerable. And she squeezes him closer, closing her eyelids for a brief second and prays for God’s goodwill.

The front door violently wretches open, yanking them apart.

“Carroll.” Papa bellows.

Feet pounding on the floor above. The ceiling is vibrating, vibrating with anger.

“Carroll, get your ass-face out here.”

Kai shoves his feet onto his steel-toed boots and follows Maisie to the door with his laces still undone.

“Glenn, welcome home.” Mama’s voice crops up. Rigid, flat, firm. the last trace of tears and anguish is completely clear from her words. Maisie Watson has always wondered how could Mama manage that. How can she blocks out her turmoil, how can she maintain a poker face in front of Papa, in front of the world. How can she sound so much like she did not cry over the return of Kai, like she barely harboured any emotion at all.

“Who the hell is in our house?” Papa thunders.

“Are you hungry? We’ve left-over rabbit curry.”

“Cut the shit, Carroll.” Papa snaps.

Every muscles in her body strains at attention as she twists the knob. The wooden frame creaks, but Maisie pushes it all the way through to create a large enough gap for both her and Kai.

“It’s midnight, don’t yell.” Mama says. As Mama’s brittle tone rings out again, echoing in Maisie’s ears, a wave of wary and fear washes through her bloodstream. She doesn’t believe Mama can stand Papa, not at all. Her fearless Mama wants exactly what she wants and isn’t afraid of anything, but Maisie is afraid of Papa’s fists, of his spits and kicks.

She already wincing at an old pain on her jaws.

“Don’t you dare treat me like a child.” Papa hisses.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Maisie turns and nods at Kai. Without a word, they trail each other in perfect harmony, noiselessly, up the stairs. She places a hand behind her as if she can somehow shield Kai if Papa comes at them. She flattens against the wall, slowing her breath. Terror, as silence as death, slithering slowly from her breasts down to her belly, claiming every single inch over her body. Paralyzing her.

Papa lets out a drawl. “You got three secs, else I’ll—”

“Will what?” Mama cuts in. “Shoot at your own son?”

Her heart stops. Behind her, Kai’s breath hitches. A sickening silence follows. She can feel her heart in her throat, in her ears, on her fingertips, behind her eyeballs. She can feel her heart everywhere. Pulsing. Frantically. Waiting for Papa to charging down any second with his long, black rifle, oiled and loaded.

“My son?” Papa enounciates the syllables slowly, as if tasting them for the first time. She can visualize his stance, the predator prowl hunch, with his chin lowers to his chest and one side of his face lifts in a sneer, palms flex. “What the fuck is that bastard doing here?”

But he doesn’t wait for Mama to answer. His feet stomp across the room.

“What are you doing?” Mama cries.

They are near the top of the stairs. From where they are standing, they can observe a part of the living room. She musters some courage, braves a peek from behind the wall, peering for just a fraction of a second to take in a mental picture and quickly recoils, shaking. Papa is heading for the cabinet where he keeps his gun, of course.

The front door is about four and a half strides.

Mama is standing between them and him, but Maisie knows Papa has a precise aim. He grew up with hunter’s blood in his vein. As she eyes the distance, envisions their escape, she suddenly remembers when they were young, Papa would proudly tell them as a child he could shoot a desert bunny thirty-five metres away, perfectly right in the chest.

It was a story, sure. But one thing Maisie knows for sure is that Papa never lie.

“Where’s he?” Papa asks. A rhetorical question. Hard, metallic snap of the barrel clicking in place.

She shudders.

“Glenn. He’s your son, for Christ’s sake. Can’t you let him stay for the night?” Mama stutters.

“Where’s that son of a bitch, Carroll?” Papa says slowly. “Downstair? With Maisie?”

Maisie twists around, meets Kai’s eyes. His are two black beads, glinting with fear, like a cornered animal.

Papa’s going to do it. He’s going to shoot Kai. And he isn’t hesitate to do it.

She touches his shoulders, holding his fragile gaze, pointing at the door.

“Glenn, I forbid you.” Mama raises her voice, stepping in front of Papa. “I’ll kill myself if you hurt him.”

“Go ahead.” Papa challenges. “You’re much of a chicken for that.”

On three, she mouths, holding up her hands. But suddenly she notices Kai has a serious, dark look over his features.

“You’re coming with me.” Kai grits out, entwines their hands.

“What?” Maisie wheels around. “No.”

“I won’t let him touch you.” His jaws lock sternly, jut out at hard angles. His brows furrow. His palm is searing hot, sweaty and large.

A foreboding sense casades over her. She knows that expression, very well. It’s the same expression Papa weared when he was pointing the rifle at the construction workers, ordering them out of the house. Kai would not be pursue.

“What about Mama?” Maisie says.

Kai falters a bit, but he squares his shoulders, determination hardens his words. “I’ll come back to her later.”

“No.” Maisie shakes her head. “No.”

Papa closes on them, his footsteps boom, boom, boom. She hears Mama growls, pushing Papa away.

There’s a split second suspension. Then a loud crack where the rifle’s butt connects with Mama’s nose, ripples through the air.

Mama’s sputter cry sounds distance as she clutches her bloody, broken nose.

No, no, no, a siren wails off in her head. She wants to run out there and covers Mama’s from Papa’s blows. But she remembers Mama’s solid look when she looked in her eyes and said You know what to do.

She has to get Kai out of here before Papa reaches them, get Kai out of here before his stupid macho earns him a bullet between his eyes. She can’t let Mama down.

Without thinking at all, she forcefully digs her nails into Kai’s forearms, sprinting for the exit.

Maisie and Kai’s feet skid over the floor. Their limbs tripping over each other in blind panic. Kai’s jacket makes loud noisy swish-swish as they dart to the door.

Papa’s yelling something, but she can’t catch all his words. Her hands flimsily wrap around the door handle, doesn’t seem to gain friction at all. Out the window panel, she catches a glimpse of Papa’s Ford parking on the opposite curb, not in the driveway.

She finally manages to toss open the door. They bust through the screen door and scramble down the broken chunks of cobble stones. Microscopic snowflakes swirling down from the dishwater-gray sky. A gust of wind hoots as if enjoying this family bloody drama before them.

Kai’s hand shoots out and seizes her forearm. She is so startled, almost wheeling back and punching him on his chest. “Get in.” He hisses.

Where he holds hurts. “No, no. Go. Oh my God.” She pries his fingers loose. Seeing Papa’s silhouette passes the window panel. The siren in her head gongs again, louder and louder and louder with each breath she draws in. She plants a sloppy kiss on Kai’s cheek. “Come back. Be safe.” She whispers in his ear, wrestles free.

The front entrance flings.

Kai desperately reaches out for her again, but she pushes him into the driver’s seat. He fumbles to insert the key and turns on the ignition. The Corolla shrills to life.

A roar blasts through the air. Maisie jumps just in time, narrowly misses a Ping skits across the car’s hood. Papa’s wielding his rifle, standing on top of the steps.

Another Pring. Deafening. This time penetrates the car’s headlight, causing the glass shatters.

Kai hastily backs the car out, running over a patch of dead grass.

Papa raises his head and spits on the ground. “Don’t ever set a foot onto my property again, faggot.”

The Corolla’s front wheels swivel and leave trail of smoke as it tears away. The unharmed tail lights blink.

Maisie Watson’s heart gives a twist when she realizes now that Kai is safely gone, all she left is herself. She turns to see Papa’s barrel now turns on her. She involuntary steps back, hunching her shoulders to protect her neck from the invisible punches. She wants to raise her chin and fixes Papa with an unwavering glare like her Mama can do, yet her eyes refuse to leave the ground.

She’s weak, and will always be weak, in front of Papa. In front of everybody. In front of the world.

“Get in.” Papa snaps.

Slowly, her feet drag across the wet ground, bracing herself for the inevitable.

When she comes close, Papa whacks her upside the head. She can’t even catch his motion. A blurry black streak dives across her peripheral vision. The next thing she knows a black nova explodes behind her eyelids and she is staggering, slamming her head into the window frame.

Papa clicks his tongue in disgust and shoves her into the house. She comes stumbling, collapsing next to Mama, both with blood running down their faces.

“You homo-sympathizers are even more disgusting than the homos themselves.” Papa says, leaning his rifle against the couch. “You stupid women, thinking you’re clever, eh? Going behind my back like that?” He slides the bolt in place, and cracks his knuckles.

He doesn’t smile or grin sadistically. His lips are grim and set, as if this is another chore he has to be done with before he crashes for the night.

When Papa goes for her, Maisie Watson cowers.