***TRIGGER WARNING; Domestic Abuse***
A week later and no fairies had abducted me into their mischievous realm to play twisted, ominous games.
I was actually a little disappointed.
It was still really nice having a place to read in peace for once though.
I'd gotten in the habit of ignoring homework until I got to the house for two reasons. One, having a break between school and home chaos was levelling up my sanity. Two, I still hadn't told anyone about the shortcut so if I suddenly started showing up with my homework done every day my parents might get suspicious about the change. They know my schedule backwards and forwards. Even if I had come up with a reasonable explanation for how I was getting it done all of the sudden they would just take the opportunity to yell about how I hadn't found the work ethic sooner.
So I was just reading. I had fifteen minutes on the way home every day now to read without worrying about awkward questions that could lead to fights. Awesome.
Unfortunately it didn't change the amount of fighting there already was.
Dad didn't put enough money in the bank for groceries this week. Mom didn't get groceries on time last week so he didn't know we needed more. What was the big deal? You have the money, just put more in the account. It was too late, everything was already distributed. Well where did the rest of the money go then? Money didn't just disappear.
On and on they went until it sounded like they had both forgotten what the original argument was about.
In the meantime, my sister made dinner and I herded my brothers to the bathroom to get cleaned up from the day. While one was in the tub the other had homework, and between checking on them I helped my sister set the table. Somehow I actually managed to get both of the boys to bathe and finish a lot of their homework by the time she was serving dinner.
The boys were sitting at the table within minutes (anything was better than homework, and the chance to make fun of their sister's cooking was better than a lot of things) so I was free to run some of the food through the blender for the baby.
We were supposed to let our parents know we were ready when everyone was at the table. Then we'd wait for our parents to finish their argument, finish what they'd been doing before the argument, wash their hands and get to the table.
My sister and I had started cooking the food to a higher temperature on the nights they were fighting so the food would still be warm when we finally started eating. The downside to that was our parents were getting used to it and thought they'd been fast getting to the table, so they were relaxing and taking their time more often. It was hard to balance sometimes.
Tonight it worked out well enough. By the time our parents got to the table and Dad said the blessing for the food, everything but the baby food was still fairly warm.
After dinner, when the kitchen was finally clean despite the boy's best efforts, Dad said he'd get everyone to bed so Mom could go to sleep early.
He did not.
I have no idea what he did, but my sister and I got the boys and the baby to bed before settling into our bunks for the night.
The two of us shared a room with the baby. Some nights we got a decent amount of sleep, others we didn't.
That night, we didn't. But it wasn't the baby's fault.
Dad was angry. Any attempt at peacekeeping he'd magnanimously enacted was void. I couldn't tell what he was screaming about but he was loud, and so was Mom.
Something broke.
They'd never broken anything before.
When Mom finally started sobbing and refused to speak to him anymore, Dad yelled for me to come clean up the mess in the kitchen.
It was just a mug. They probably hadn't even broken it on purpose. But the pieces were small and sharp, the broom wasn't where it was supposed to be, and Dad wouldn't let me look for it because I needed to get back to bed.
"Just pick up the pieces, and throw them away! It's not that hard."
"I just don't want to c-"
"I didn't ask for excuses, stop backtalking me and throw it away already."
His voice was harsh, still angry from the fight. His tone was the same as the one he used to explain things to my three-year-old brother. He was in no mood to listen, even to reason.
So I bit the inside of my lip and tried not to cut myself on the sharp edges of the ceramic, throwing away one piece at a time.
"Now take the trash out. It should've been done earlier so you might as well while you're up."
"Yes sir."
I took it out.
It was a long walk to the garbage can. I had never heard a real explanation for why we kept it so far away from the house. When I turned to walk back inside, the lights were all off.
When I got back to the house the doors were locked.
Too slow.
I bit my lip and a tear slipped out. They had locked us out for taking too long in the past, but I hadn't thought they would do it at night. The fight must've been even worse than I'd realized if they were mad enough to do something like this.
I sat on the tacky, prickly 'welcome' mat on the back step and tried not to cry. The chill of a fall night was already seeping through my clothes.
When I finally looked up, the pavilion was lit up in front of me.
It was much closer than it had ever been before. Strings of those old-fashioned Christmas lights with massive bulbs glowing ivory dimly lit my refuge.
One look at the dark, locked windows behind me and my mind was made up.
I started towards my pavilion.
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