The bus ride back is super lonely. I keep wanting to look to my side and say whatever the first thing I can think of is, but no one but the bus driver and some girl would hear me. Actually, the girl is wearing headphones, so she’s way out of the picture. I wasn’t really thinking I’d be using a Walkman today, so I’m sort of stuck listening to the echo chamber that is my stupid mind. Situations where you’re stuck with your thoughts suck. Rhea’s words from earlier are ringing in my head. I guess her words and the drums from the girl’s music; they’re real loud. Is she trying to go deaf? Anyways, back to Rhea’s words. Yes, I know you can lose anyone in an instant. Mom was way young when she had her stroke; that’s not something that’s supposed to happen to you when you’re not even 30 yet. At least, I don’t think so. We weren’t orphaned, but we may as well have been. Rhea was taking care of the two of us when we got sent to live with our dad in San Bernardino, and the only way we knew he was still alive was when he’d come back from work around what Rhea called the witching hour, which was more like the witching half-hour slot where he’d usually come back. It was like 1:22 to 1:52. Don’t ask how she got it to be so exact.

Oh, that, and the fights, I guess. I was too young to understand what they were fighting about, but just last year is when Rhea told me that she hated him for the way he treated mom. Cheated, let her down, and she would frequently bring up his arrest for hitting her. This pissed him off because like most self-righteous idiots, he said he ‘had a reason’ for those things, which Rhea knew was bullshit. I was always just cooped up in our room. I feel pathetic in retrospect. I never defended her. Guess I just didn’t know how to. I mean, what would I have done if no one even told me what was going on? Rhea didn’t want me to be involved anyway. She said I’d get wrinkles if I worried too much. I guess that’s also bull, because I should not have skin this smooth with how fucking scared I was every time Leo decided to blow up on her. I heard things being thrown sometimes. Leo called Rhea a mistake casually and as an insult. We didn’t have any other family, so there wasn’t exactly another option except for something like foster care; Rhea said they’d separate us or put us in the wrong places like hospitals or something. I was more afraid of being separated than anything (still am, I guess), so we never tried to call the cops or anything, even all the days I found new bruises on her after several minutes of yelling from both of them.

I think the worst part about all of this wasn’t the fighting, the absence of our dad, or even the bruises. Not all of Rhea’s injuries came from Leo directly. I remember that day. I never have and never will blame her for it, but she was just… so sad one day. I’ve never seen her in a lower state than on her 17th birthday. We never really did much for birthdays, just told each other, ‘Hey, happy day of birth,’ and that was that, so it wasn't that no one was celebrating with her. I found her one day after another argument with dad. I don’t know what Leo said to her, and she’d never tell me, but I’ll hate him forever for it. I don’t know what I was thinking, I was a stupid 14-year-old, but I went to go comfort her after the fight, and I remember thinking there were… stripes on her left arm. In her other hand, one of those eyebrow razors. Her face was red, and her eyes were glassy with pure, unfiltered misery. I don’t know what I was thinking, I just ran to her and hugged her for a moment, trying my best not to sob- one of us had to stay put together. I couldn’t grasp why such a beautiful person would do something like that to themselves, and it was when I realized that Rhea was in so much more pain than she’d ever let on. I looked at her arm. The lines weren’t too deep, and none of them were longer than an inch or a little more, but there were a few that trickled. Others, the more shallow ones, had small beads of blood across them. I swore to God I’d never let that happen again. I asked her to give me the razor, and (naively) to promise me that she would stop doing that to herself. Looking back on it, I guess it was a little selfish to make her promise me that, even though she really did never do it again. With how light they were, I wondered how many other times I’d missed her doing that. Still, thanks to them being shallow enough, you’d have to look really hard to see them, but believe me, they're still there- the scars, I mean. I just tried to make sure she knew I wasn’t upset with her, just that I hoped and wished she wouldn’t ever feel the need to do that ever again.

Rhea left as soon as she was 18. I understood it then and I understand it now, but it was still so hard to not be upset. Maybe not at her, but I definitely wasn’t ready for her to leave. It’s okay, that’s not something that’s up to me. She needed out. I try not to ever bring it up, because Rhea will kick herself a million times over for it. Leo didn’t seem to hate me as much as he did her, so I just stayed quiet and still stayed in the room. Again, she was just doing what she needed to to get us set up to be over here. In the meantime, I became the world’s best eggshell walker in the home I was supposed to be loved in. I don’t think even running a marathon would be as tiring as being that careful 24/7 was. Anyway, the thing that keeps me up at night here and there:

Leo got really sick one day. I’m not gonna go into details; it was just gross. He had me drive him to the walk-in clinic, so against every fiber of my being, I agreed. He bitched and moaned about my own sister and his own daughter to me the whole time I had control of that car. Things about how she’d eat too much (she was underweight all our childhood), too opinionated, too whatever, not whatever enough, whatever. His disgusting, rotting, orange-red tinted voice made me tune out, and… yeah, so, it’s partially my fault that we didn’t see the guy drunk out of his mind speeding past the stop sign. He hit us, and I have no idea how, but all I really suffered from was a broken wrist (which, yes, ended my time as a gymnast). My dad, however… He broke his right arm in three different places, cracked his clavicle on the same side, I think a few ribs, and had severe chest trauma. Paramedics had to restart his heart as soon as they arrived, and they took us both away to the hospital.

They let me visit him after like, half a day when I felt okay enough to walk around again, so they walked me to his room and left us alone. Our dad looked miserable. For a little, I felt sorry for him. I did. I mean, that’s my dad. My dad was suffering right before me. They had him on life support since his heart was going absolutely crazy. They chalked it up to the injury possibly triggering some underlying health issue. I don’t know what. I wasn’t listening. No reason. While I was waiting for him to wake up, I wondered if he thought any of the pain he felt once that guy hit us was anywhere close to what he caused Rhea and mom. I decided that Rhea’s the last person he’s thinking of, and that none of this would help him learn anything. That’s just the kind of guy he is. I was hoping I’d be proved wrong when he woke up, but of course, my conclusion was realized. If he had the strength, he would’ve gotten up and strangled me right then and there. How do I know that? He said so himself. Finally, all the wrath he had intended for Rhea was now on me, but this time, he was powerless. It was weird seeing him so unable to do anything, yet all this disgust still lingered in his heart. I don’t think I remember thinking anything in particular, except that I had one chance to make this world just a slightly better place. One with one less source of sheer disgust and vitriol for its own kin. One where that piece of shit can’t hurt anyone else.

I didn’t know which one the support was, so I pulled every cord out of their sockets. For a bit, there were just several wires strung out all over the floor. After several minutes, I plugged everything back in and called for help. To say I was freaking out is a total understatement. It wasn't so much the risk of getting caught that was freaking me out, but the fact I had done this. Yes, I wanted him out of our lives and at the same time, out of his misery. I hated him, but for some reason, I couldn’t stop all the small positive moments I had with him from flooding into my head. My chest hurt worse than when the impact happened. Official cause of death: heart failure. I’d just freed myself and erased the source of my sister’s pain. I was able to move in with Rhea after that whole ordeal was done, and while she agreed that him being gone was a total relief…

No, she doesn’t know. No, I will never tell her. Please believe me when I say I took absolutely no pleasure in doing it; it was just a means to an end. It was more like putting him down, but even that felt wrong. He practically died as soon as the car hit us. The time he lived after that was not his to use. I still remember how hard I shook after he was gone. Putting the task aside for a second, I was worried people would get suspicious and they’d lock me up and I’d never see Rhea again except through a tiny little window. It’s been about a year or so, and there was no foul play suspected, so I think I’m okay now. Still, part of me really hopes it didn’t hurt for too long. Of course I wanted him to feel everything he put the three of us through, but for it to be the last thing he ever felt? He did very little outside of instigating and antagonizing everyone outside of him. You can hardly call that a person by then, right? What’s the point? I have no idea what Rhea or anyone else would think of me if they found out. That’s not me. I’m not a murderer. I think if I thought for any longer than a second, I wouldn’t have done it. Not just because I was scared, but because I just can’t handle that sort of responsibility and- it’s my dad. He was my dad. He was my dad. That was my dad. My. Dad. And I…

The bus stops. Right, I was going home. It looks like the girl with the Walkman got off at an earlier stop, because I don’t see her anywhere now, nor do I hear the drums in her music. Crap, how long have I been on here? I look out the window and see the police station. Whew. I’m just one stop away from home. Although… there’s someone walking out of the station. I’d recognize that hair and dark style anywhere — it’s Isabelle! The frontman of Flowers for Ophelia! Wait, they really got her? But she’s just walking out all normal; no cuffs or anything, and she’s alone. She’s also crying… What happened? I can’t wait to tell Rhea tomorrow. She’ll be back super late, and I’m dead tired, but maybe she knows something; she always seems to know what’s going on in the local music circle. At least I know Isabelle’s innocent now. Would they really let a dangerous witch run free? Unless she used some weird magic to trick them into letting her go. Kidding, of course. I guess it wouldn’t be too ridiculous to think she could do something like that if she really had the power to make people kill themselves. Alright, I’m getting too into this. I just need to focus on staying awake so I can get off at the right stop…