Emotions (YJ fanfiction)

Chapter Two

I smiled, placing the sausage on both plates. There we go breakfast, I have conquered you and this part of my day. The eggs, along with everything else, were still enticingly warm. Now all I need is the little munchkin to devour them.

It was Saturday, AKA the weekend. I loved this day of the week, because Anne loved it. That's how most things go. If Anne wants to do it, we do it. If she doesn't, I can do it on my free time, which is usually spent with her.

Walking to her room, I opened the door, seeing the familiar bundle snoring softly. I smiled to myself. She was just too adorable. The purple walls looked so perfect for her.

Ah, but all things must come to an end eventually, at the very least until next morning. I crept towards the bed, gently lifting the covers off of her body. She shivered slightly, reaching sleepily for the blanket. I put the comforter on the floor, shaking her awake.

"Anney! Wakey wakey eggs and sausage!" I sang. She opened one eye.

"And toast?"

"And toast." I promised.

She grabbed her slippers, shoving them onto her feet, and rushed out the door to the dining room. I sighed in content, picking the covers back up. First I placed the sheet down, then the blanket, along with her comforter on top. Afterwards, I fluffed her pillows, putting them back into place. Stepping back, I admired my work, along with her canopy and window seat.

On weekdays I have Anne take care of her own bedding, but on weekends I just do it. Her way is to just put it on however neat she can get it while still getting out the door.

And then I mentally prepared myself for my most dreaded part of the day.

With intense caution, I tiptoed towards the darkest part of the hall. From the beginning to the end of the week, it's the most foreboding part of the house.

Carefully, I cracked open the door. My eye peered in, taking in the scene, and immediately regretted that stupid sense of bravery I had. It was my duty every morning to check to make sure that man wasn't awake.

Usually he would have gotten so drunk that he would pass out before he could see us. But today was not one of those days. Instead of state of sleep, he was just drunk, and had turned his attention to the door.

Thinking quickly, I ran to the dining room, grabbing Anne, who tried to question me, and the medicine, along with our rain coats and a snack. For Anne, of course. I heard the thump of his drunken steps down the hall.

Thump.

I managed to get her rain coat on quickly.

Thump.

I didn't even bother with putting mine on.

Thump.

I put Anne's shoes on her feet, as well as mine on my own.

Thump.

I snatched the keys.

Thump.

I got the door open.

Thump.

Just as his belly came into sight, I closed the door. It was only sprinkling out, and luckily I wore decent sweatpants and a shirt to sleep in last night. Anne was fine too, no one would say anything about a six year old in a purple unicorn onesie.

My heart was beating quickly as I opened the umbrella, holding my sister's hand in mine as we headed in no certain direction.

"Marcy?" Anne asked me.

I looked down at her, "yeah?"

"Why don't I get to see Daddy?" My heart broke a little.

She doesn't know. I can't let her know, she's too innocent. My head is telling me yes, that she has a right to know, but my heart keeps seeing the little two year old without a mother in my nine year old arms. I listened to my heart.

"Because our...Dad... is very sick," I told her. It wasn't a lie, that bastard is very, very sick in the head for leaving his daughters alone. Especially while he goes spending the money hard earned to by beer!

The tips of my hair turned a slight red, but I took a deep breath.

"Then why isn't he in a hospital?" Anne asked me.

I sighed, "he's not that kind of sick, Anne. But let's not worry about it, look!"

She gave me a toothy grin when she saw where we were. It was an old fashioned breakfast bar that our mother used to take us to. I took Anne there a few times every few months. The owner loved our mother, and she said that we were welcome any time at all. She treats us like daughters.

Holding the door open for Anne, we walked right in. Immediately, an old woman with greying hair and kind eyes rushed over. "Heavens to Betsy child, I was starting to think y'all were dead. You haven't been 'round here in a while."

Aunty Charlotte, as we always called her, gave us big hugs.

"Sorry, we just haven't gotten a chance," I apologized.

She frowned. "Mm-mm, that just won't do. Time is catchin' up with me, so correct me if I'm wrong, but you are way too skinny, Marcelene. What has Matthew been feeding you both?"

I tried to answer, but came up short. Anne, however, seemed to know exactly what to say. "Marcy said Daddy's been sick. That's why I can't see him."

This was news to Aunt Charlotte. "Matthew's caught a bug? Well darlin' why didn't y'all say so? You both can stay with me at the diner, till he's better. We've got guest beds for the two of you. Heaven knows what y'all have done for food!"

She hustled into the kitchen. I could hear the fry of food from out here. Anne grabbed my hand and led me to a table.

"Marcy! Aunty Charlotte is really gonna let us stay here?" She asked with her big eyes.

I sighed, "I suppose she is, Anne."

As Charlotte came out with two huge plates of food, she began berating me about eating more often. I honestly missed her a lot, but we couldn't stay too long. No matter how fiery she was, she was getting old. We would be causing her a lot of stress she doesn't need in in her old age.

We'll stay till tomorrow, but then we've got to get back home. Hopefully 'Matthew' will have calmed down. This is precisely why I can't leave her home alone.

Not all of my scars are from my job.

So it's not as long as a chapter as the other one, but now you've got a glimpse of her home life. At least, more of one.

I love Southern accents, probably because I used to have one too. I feel kind of really bad for what's going to happen in the next chapter, but oh well. Marcelene will survive.