Page 34 of Three Stepbrothers Save Christmas

“Come here and give your old man a hug, pumpkin.”

I walk to my father and hug him. He squeezes me like he always does, but it doesn’t feel the same. I don’t think they ever will again, not after this.

“We will be back soon, okay. Then we will take that walk.”

“When?” Ryan asks behind me.

“I don’t know yet, but we will sort something soon.” My father replies. I know that tone; it means don’t push it. Dad looks at me and smiles. “Remember, no tears; no one likes it when you cry,” he says before kissing my forehead. “See you later, Pumpkin. Have a good Christmas.”

“Bye, Dad. You too,” I reply as he walks back towards the car, and I wrap my arms around myself. I start to slowly count in my head as I watch him reach the car and wave before jumping behind the wheel. Linda waves happily as they pull away and head out of view.

Ten.

I turn around and walk back into the house.

Nine

“Kitten, listen, okay. I know you are upset and have every right to be.”

Eight.

Ryan grabs hold of my arm to stop me from heading to the stairs, but I pull away from him.

Seven.

“Speak to me, Little Kitten. Tell me what you need.”

Six.

“A shower,” I reply, not recognising my own voice.

Five.

I walk up the stairs and almost reach my room before he is there beside me.

Four.

“Stop and speak to me. I’m still here. We are still here.”

Three.

“I’m fine,” I say as I walk into my room, closing the door in his face.

Two.

“No one likes it when you cry”. He has told me that again and again over the years. So, I do everything in my power to stop. Even if that means I have to distract myself with something else.

I strip out of my clothes and turn on the shower, making sure the water is almost too hot to bear.

One.

I lean against the cold tiles as my legs go from underneath me, and my body shudders as the first sob leaves my chest.

“No one likes it when you cry,” so I never cry in front of anyone. I keep it all locked inside until something like this happens. Then, I do whatever I can to distract myself from the internal pain.

I crumble to the floor and bring my knees up to my chest as the first silent scream bursts from my chest. I see my wash bag in the corner beside me. My razor is right there on the top. I run a finger over my hip and feel the bumps of the scars. I look at the razor again through the tears I can’t let fall and grab it. I just want this pain to go away; if something else hurts, then it gives me something different to focus on, something that isn’t the abandonment of the father I love more than anyone else in this world.

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