The Immortal Children

Nervous Habit

I sat as still as a statue, staring out of the window in Chris's bedroom. I could see the rain pounding against the bedroom window, hear the rumbling of thunder in the distance. It had been sunny just an hour earlier. I wondered if my ability to control water extended out to rain. After all, it did seem as though the weather was mimicking my mood perfectly. 

Ashlynn was pacing back and forth a few feet away. She was angry. Furious. I still wasn't really aware of what was happening. It was clear that I wasn't ready to hear it, as my mind was still reeling from Ashlynn's declaration earlier. 

'It was Daddy. He killed Mama'. 

He killed Mama.

He killed Mama.

He killed Mama.

A furious scream ripped through my throat as I lunged onto my feet and threw the object closest to me. It was one of Chris's picture books. With the full strength of  a vampire, I hurled the book through the window. Though the glass shattered and the bright, yellow Dr. Seuss book disappeared into the tree line, my anger wasn't sated. I ripped the window frame off as well, hurling the boards through the already broken window. 

There were many things I missed about being human. Laughing so hard that tears would fall from my eyes. Frequently measuring myself, hoping that one day soon I would hit a growth spurt and be taller than Mom. Waking up to the sunlight shining into my room each morning as I pondered the dream that I had just had before it completely disappeared from my memory.

But in this moment, I didn't care about any of those things. What I missed about being human was the ability to feel adrenaline, the ability to get forcefully rid myself of anger. No amount of physical exertion would help to calm me right now, because I would never grow tired. The rage inside of me just seemed to keep building, and I was sure that I would explode from it. 

'It was Daddy. He killed Mama'.

I had always known that he would. When I was little, far too little to see the things that I had, I would sit huddled in the little bedroom in the back of our cold house. I would have my arm around Ashlynn, trying to quiet her tears so he wouldn't come looking for us. I would clutch baby Chris to my chest, knowing that he was hungry, but also knowing that the kitchen was far too close to danger. I would sit, hiding in that dark little room, listening to the sound of slaps and glass shattering. Listening to the sound of our Mother accepting a beating from our Father so we wouldn't have to be the ones to face his drunken rage.

So many times, I had been terrified by the sound of Mom crying. But even more, I was always more scared when the sound stopped. I would sit in the room with my brother and sister for hours, praying that she was just unconscious and not dead.  

I had always known, though. Deep down, I had always been sure that one day, our Father would kill one of us. And I had always known that it would be Mom. Because she wouldn't let him get to us. Not as long as she was alive. My mind went back to the night that Mom had died. Her last word had been 'run'. Her final breath had been a plea for us to survive, even when she knew that she wouldn't. And now Ashlynn was saying that it had been our father's doing.  

But we had left. We had left Dad, left that house, left that nightmare. The police officer who showed up to the house the night that the domestic disturbance call was made had promised that we would be safe. The welfare lady who had checked on us had promised that we were safe. The judge who had made the restraining order said it, and so had the judge who had let Mom divorce our father. 

We were supposed to be safe.

I spun around to face my siblings. As soon as I had processed Ashlynn's words, I had grabbed both of my siblings and bolted upstairs, unwilling to let the Cullens watch my mental breakdown. Chris had been seated on the bed since I had clicked the lock on his door into place. He was leaning against the wall, watching me nervously. I must have scared him when I broke the window.