Don't

Death and Impact

My fathers death impacted us all greatly but none greater than it did to mom.
After hearing about my father crashing into a cargo train when the crossroads didn't go off, she pretended we didn't exist.
She would sit on the couch, chugging down too many cans of beer, throwing up, or passed out. I would have to go to the store and buy all the food with my own money. I'd walk to school with Nita, my 5-year old sister, and walk home. On days when I had to leave to go shop, I would leave my little sister at the house in my room because I thought nothing bad would happen.
But I was wrong.
I came home one day with the groceries and set the on the table. The air was quiet and a soft whimpering voice came from upstairs. Curious, I went up to find mom in her bedroom, laying in the bed with beer cans scattered all over the floor.
I crept passed her and into my bedroom to find my sister sobbing silently in the corner, her hands over her face and her legs hugged tightly to her chest.
The first thing I noticed was the slash marks that were splayed over the skin on her left cheek and her right arm. The second thing I saw was the blood and beer on the floor, merged like oil and water.
She shook her head and gazed passed my shoulder to the doorway. I didn't want to turn around, I was afraid of what I would find. But to my relief, Nita turned back to face me and sniffed.
"Mommy said to get her a beer and I went downstairs to get one, b-but it was the wrong one! So mommy got mad and she gave me these," she explained, holding out her scared arms.
"Oh honey," I crooned, scooping her in my arms and rocking her gently.
"I'm so sorry, I should have taken you with me. From now one, you stay with me okay?" I ask. She nods and lays against my chest, her tears soaking the hem of my shirt.
That night I slept with her, holding her tight and fighting away her feared monsters, but her company also allowed me to gain courage to fight mine, for Nita, I must be strong, no matter what the cost.