'Dysfunctional: not operating normally or properly'
That was one way to describe Clara Campbells family. Dysfunctional; not operating properly. That was just what happened when your older siblings leave you.
Or that's what Clara had always believed...
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| Third Person POV |
Auston Campbell - 6 years old
"Now, I want you to listen very carefully here, this boy, whatever his name, is like more of a son to you. You are to look after him, and that other one that runs around like his head has been chopped off. They are your job" his mother sneered at him, all while she rubbed a hand over her growing stomach, looking down at the scrawny boy, fear in his eyes.
He was only 6 years old, second year of school, and he already had the responsibility of two younger brothers, and another one was about to be on the way, whether it was a boy or girl, he never knew. He hoped it was a girl, as he didn't think he could deal with another stinky diaper in his face from his younger brother.
He had no idea, that he was only supposed to be a little boy, that sat at the dining table and spoke with their mother about what she was cooking or if she could help with his homework. No, he was supposed to be out in the backyard and playing with his father, while his mother watched on the sidelines.
But, they had no backyard, only three boys crammed into one room, with only two beds, which one was broken. Both of his brothers were bed hogs, so his father had found an old mattress that someone was getting rid of, and gave it to the boy for his 5th birthday, after he had found his son sleeping on the floor, but had made no hurry to help him, or allow him into his large bed.
The same bed which he would later despise, but have to use for his siblings to get sleep. His siblings would never know what had happened to him in that room that made him freeze his entire body, not even breathing whenever he thought about it. But he didn't know that yet, he didn't know that the fear of his mother in his face was only just the beginning.
"Owwwww, ughhhh" his mother screeched, from just moments down the hallway, where she had turned her back on him, as she clutched her stomach. The same stomach that had grown and shrunk in a matter of years, Auston constantly prepared for this at the mere age of 6. He was ready to take her to the hospital, as his father was probably out with his mates, drinking.
That was what his father did. He drank every Thursday, with the fortnightly Friday, then the break of Saturday work, which he would go out on once a month, as he would get his pay, before day drinking on Sundays. He would have a break on Monday to walk Auston to the street his school was on, before taking him to football that night, and then it all started again that night, and no body would know when it stopped.
Sometimes, if his father wasn't drunk when he should be, you could hear some god awful sounds through the paper thin walls. When they would stop for a couple of nights, Auston would start counting the months until he would know there would be another one after him, throwing things at him and demanding him of something.
He was surprised that his father would even get up to walk him to school. Even to football practice was hard, as he would stand there and watch Auston, a beer in hand usually, but that was the rare occasion he came. If Auston ever underperformed, he would scream, and hold him by the neck, so Auston avoided underperforming whenever his father was there.
