A Hatchetfield Oneshot Collection

Angelbaby

TW Abuse

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Looking back on her life, her sad, short, measly life, she understood.

Maybe she understood too much.

Emma had never been one for forgiveness. She held grudges until her knuckles turned white and her fingers locked in place. She still hadn't forgotten when Becky Barnes had stolen her best friend in fifth grade, nor would she ever forgive her for it. That guy who cut her off at the intersection of Main and Washington two years ago? She'll still glare him down when she sees him around town.

And if those minor offenses still made her see red, then she saw all the colors of the fucking rainbow when she thought of her parents. Thought of their knife shaped words and occasional slap or punch or squeeze of her neck until spots danced in her eyes and fingerprints were visible on her skin. Of how she was branded the problem child from the time she decided she didn't want to obey the rules any longer. They were cruel, self centered people, only concerned with their image and what their Boating Society friends thought of them.

And Jane. Her baby sister Jane. The perfect child. Emma had designed it that way. Taught her never to look their father in the eyes or speak unless spoken to. Taught her to let their mother dress her like a baby doll. To be the best child, praised at snobby parties by pretentious assholes.

Because if Emma was loud, if Emma was rude, if Emma smoked pot and got stick and pokes and stole beer and talked back, there was no way that Jane could ever be anything less than perfect. If she accidentally shattered a glass, Emma took the blame. If she left the laundry on the floor or got bad grades, her older sister took the fall.

When had it started?

The realization that her mother was pregnant again came with the realization that there would be another child subject to the trauma that Emma had suffered through. From the moment Emma had held her sister in her arms, beautiful brown eyes blinking up at her sleepily, she had decided that this precious angel was not deserved by her parents. And this sweet baby girl did not deserve them either, too innocent and good. It was grounded in her eyes, an innate goodness that Emma could never hope to have.

They were kind to Jane, understanding, and Emma had thought perhaps that her parents had seen the goodness in those eyes, knew that she deserved the world. But after a year or two, Jane hit her toddler years and suddenly everything was loud and messy and they snapped. Literally and figuratively.

Jane's screams echoed through the house. Emma was the only one to sign the cast on her arm.

From then on it was Emma who took the negative attention, feeding Jane all of the good. She rocked that girl to sleep and stashed pacifiers to muffle fits and did everything she could to take the hits until her parents were so tired that they forgot about the screaming five year old that had started the whole situation.

Maybe it was the age gap between the two girls. A steady ten years that made Emma more of a mom than a sister. Or maybe it was just who Emma was as a person, loyal to a fault and angry at the world.

Either way, Emma understood now, as the view of Hatchetfield vanished in the rearview mirror. As her eyes caught on the sight of her angel baby napping in the back seat of her beat up truck, halo of dark curls wild with the finality of freedom.

She was created by the universe to protect this child. Her Jane. And she'd spend the rest of her life making Jane's worth it.