Forever Family

Part 1

(Kyle Age 5)

Sometimes I'd have nightmares, waking up shaking. I never woke up screaming though because I knew that would make dad angry. The nightmares themselves were about good ol' dad.

I looked down to see the soiled sheets and was instantly filled with disgust in myself. Why am I such a fuck-up. I thought I had finally gotten over wetting the bed but apparently not.

I set my head against my knees, and just cryed. I must have been crying for twenty minutes before my older brother, Matt, came in.

"No, please, no!" I whisper yelled as I backed away, thinking it was my dad coming in to shut me up for good.

I eventually backed all the way off the other side of the bed, falling and hurting my wrist.

Matt walked around the bed, grabbing some underwear from the pile of clean clothes my mom threw at the foot of my twin bed.

He squatted down beside me before peeling the soaked underwear I had on off my shaking body and sliding on the new ones.

He picked me up, turned out the lights to my small little room, and took me into his and my other brothers room.

As he set me on the bed my other brother, Cameron sat up from his phone to check what was going on out.

"Dad's gonna freak" he said quietly.

"I don't give a shit what dad does. Our brother is hurting and I'm going to help." Matt said as he set me on the side of the bed against the wall and crawled in behind me, wrapping me up.

Whenever one of my brothers hold me, a feeling comes over me. Safety I would say if I'd ever actually felt that. More like protection. But protection doesn't always save you...

The next morning I woke up at sunrise, due to the sun coming through the blinds and into my face.

Matt's arms were behind his head to prop his head up since he gave me the only pillow and he was soundly sleeping. My body had pressed tightly to his slightly larger one and it was kindof hot, due to the early summer florida weather.

I should have gotten out of the room the second I woke up, Instead I stayed for hours.

At around 9 Dad came in, hungover and clearly upset. But he got even more upset when he saw me. He stormed over, his thundering stomps waking both my brothers. Before he could reach me to grab me, Cameron had crossed the room and stood infront of both of us. Cameron was the oldest of all of us, at 8, was still not very impossing to a full grown man.

"Dad don't. He had a nightmare." He said.

"Oh Boo-Hoo. He needs to learn to be a man, not some faggot." He pushs Cameron aside and Matt tries too but it doent stop it. My father grabs me by my wrist, the same one I'd landed on out of the bed last night, and drags me out of the bed, across the hall and throws me on to my bed. The entire time I was in insane pain but refused to scream because I knew it would only get me hurt worse. Laying in my bed cradling my arm, I cryed but refused to make a sound, biting my lip till blood came to distract me from the pain I was already feeling.

-Time skip 9 years-

The next week social workers and cops showed up at our house. Apparently one of the teachers had noticed the way Cameron and Matt acted whenever their father was brought up and had them examined, finding bruises from the beating I caused.

That day the social worker came was the worst of my life. I was freed from my curse but seperated from my brothers.

So I took it out on the foster homes I went through. Something like 20 homes I had come and gone through. Even into juvenile detention a few times.. Sitting in the court house, I was wondering if this was it. Was I finally going to be marked as High risk and put into a group home. Somewhere I'd finally be able to stay for a while. My forever home? Doubt it. 20 foster homes is a pretty high number. Most kids would have already been sent to a group home but for some reason my social worker, Brandi, never brought it up once.