It never goes away
Her pajamas are spotless and very age appropriate, a pair of pink flannel pants and a coordinating top, both covered in names of a dreamy teen pop star. They're clean and something that every girl her age would want.
Which is why she knows she shouldn't stare at them like they're red-hot, or poison, or cursed. Pajamas remind her of-
She refuses to think about it. There's a smile and she runs to her mother refusing to go to bed. There's running around the room, and making faces, pleading with her stepfather to let her watch a movie.
And then she's escorted to the room, and forced to stare at the pajamas again, memories flooding to her mind about a little pink nightshirt last worn years ago. Would asking for ice-cream- no, it only brought more memories back.
Her Mother's boyfriend taking her out for ice cream, toys and an afternoon at the zoo. Him being the most awesome guy on the planet while all her mother did was sleep in her room and then the bruises she later saw on her mother.
Whenever he left, there were bruises and soon the little girl realized just where they came from. She couldn't protect her Mother, and could only watch as the bruises faded and new ones formed. She still let him buy her things, and treat her to ice cream and movies. Which was why it was so hard for her to look at her Mother and why she yelled at the woman to go away
Her brother was hard to look at too. He wasn't born yet, and all of the beatings her mom endured might have caused problems with him. It was her fault, and she started to yell, pushing the woman that made her feel guilty away. Telling her that it was all her fault.
It wasn't, though. She didn't ask for a man to beat her unconscious several times a week, to the point where she had to be served meals on the floor. Lynn knew her mother deserved better, and that's why she did what she had to do.
He was going to kill her. He had a knife and Mother lay on the floor bleeding and almost not breathing.
That night, she wore her favorite night shirt, pale pink and with a screenprinted picture of a boy band on the front and grabbed the sword that her Mother told her never to play with. She left her robe in her room, padding down the stairs barefoot so no one would hear her.
She stared for a moment, at the scene. They'd fought and her mother lost. Things were broken, the wall bloody and she knew that it had to end now. The child rushed the man, holding the sword out, then pulling it back after she felt it go through his body. She drove it into his body again and again, finally stepping back and watching him fall to the ground.
Her nightshirt had blood on it. Her hands were bloody, and the sword. So much blood everywhere. She ran up the stairs to wipe it off, but the small bathrobe could only do so much. She ran back down and lay beside her mother. Maybe falling asleep would make everything bad go away.
Now it was so much later, and nothing remained of that night but their memories. Tears almost came to her eyes when she looked at her mother, but instead she yelled at the woman to get out.
Which is why she knows she shouldn't stare at them like they're red-hot, or poison, or cursed. Pajamas remind her of-
She refuses to think about it. There's a smile and she runs to her mother refusing to go to bed. There's running around the room, and making faces, pleading with her stepfather to let her watch a movie.
And then she's escorted to the room, and forced to stare at the pajamas again, memories flooding to her mind about a little pink nightshirt last worn years ago. Would asking for ice-cream- no, it only brought more memories back.
Her Mother's boyfriend taking her out for ice cream, toys and an afternoon at the zoo. Him being the most awesome guy on the planet while all her mother did was sleep in her room and then the bruises she later saw on her mother.
Whenever he left, there were bruises and soon the little girl realized just where they came from. She couldn't protect her Mother, and could only watch as the bruises faded and new ones formed. She still let him buy her things, and treat her to ice cream and movies. Which was why it was so hard for her to look at her Mother and why she yelled at the woman to go away
Her brother was hard to look at too. He wasn't born yet, and all of the beatings her mom endured might have caused problems with him. It was her fault, and she started to yell, pushing the woman that made her feel guilty away. Telling her that it was all her fault.
It wasn't, though. She didn't ask for a man to beat her unconscious several times a week, to the point where she had to be served meals on the floor. Lynn knew her mother deserved better, and that's why she did what she had to do.
He was going to kill her. He had a knife and Mother lay on the floor bleeding and almost not breathing.
That night, she wore her favorite night shirt, pale pink and with a screenprinted picture of a boy band on the front and grabbed the sword that her Mother told her never to play with. She left her robe in her room, padding down the stairs barefoot so no one would hear her.
She stared for a moment, at the scene. They'd fought and her mother lost. Things were broken, the wall bloody and she knew that it had to end now. The child rushed the man, holding the sword out, then pulling it back after she felt it go through his body. She drove it into his body again and again, finally stepping back and watching him fall to the ground.
Her nightshirt had blood on it. Her hands were bloody, and the sword. So much blood everywhere. She ran up the stairs to wipe it off, but the small bathrobe could only do so much. She ran back down and lay beside her mother. Maybe falling asleep would make everything bad go away.
Now it was so much later, and nothing remained of that night but their memories. Tears almost came to her eyes when she looked at her mother, but instead she yelled at the woman to get out.