Page 55 of Neverland

Drying my hands, I accepted her offering with a small smile and slid it across my cheek. “Thank you,” I whispered, careful not to be heard.

I didn’t know why life continued to throw me into places I imagined to be like hell, but I had to think that maybe I was here to look out for the triplets. They were still so young. So vulnerable to their own father. The problem was, life wasn’t quite finished with me yet.

~~~

Months passed yet every day was the same. One or more of us would be sporting a new bruise, black eye, or in Jillian’s case, a broken arm. I struggled to fit into school and could never concentrate on classwork. My scholarship was now just a dream, my grades slipping to barely passing. My teachers thought I was just another mediocre student plodding through the system. Nothing exceptional, nothing to invest in. What they didn’t know were the reasons why I fell asleep in class. I couldn’t tell them that I spent all night hiding in a closet with the triplets wrapped around me while I whispered sweet lullabies to them, my failed attempts at distracting them from the violence occurring in the rest of the house. They were all so different. Jillian filched every time there was a loud bang. Jaden squeezed my hand whenever he heard his father bellow cuss words at his mother, and Jessica sobbed every time she heard her mother’s cries.

When I wasn’t protecting the triplets from his punch-hungry hands, I would be in bed, the sheets pulled over my head so I could cry into the pillow and pray that Romeo would come searching for me.

It turned out I couldn’t wait for Romeo or anyone else because although Uncle Brian was bad enough on his own, come poker night, his buddy Vince was a dangerous force of nature.

I noticed a change in the triplets’ behavior on poker nights. I also noticed how Jillian would wet her pants when she was ordered to get Vince another beer. It meant getting close. It meant when he pulled her in for a one-armed hug, his hand would find its way up her skirt. Instead of doing homework, I took Jillian’s place and turned into more of their own personal server, ensuring they’d never call on her again. The nights would get rowdy, the grown men arguing over the smallest of things, and nine times out of ten, it would get physical. After spending the night in the closet, we’d wake to find new holes in the drywall, smashed beer bottles and blood stains. These were the type of poker nights we preferred best. The more subdued they were, the more dangerous and sinister they became. I discovered this the hard way.

Their voices emanating from the dining room had become white noise, my eyes eventually growing heavy. I started to dream of Romeo as I always did. His smile, the touch of his hand, his jokes that would leave me in the right kind of stitches. I dreamed of Neverland and how much I loved falling asleep next to my best friend while staring at the glowing stars above. I can’t really explain what it was that woke me. I didn’t know if it was a sound that brought me back to consciousness or the feeling that someone was close. The air changed and whatever it was that caused my skin to prickle.

With my heart thudding in my ears, I stared into the darkness. I waited for movement, even just the slightest breath. A faint silver glow from the moon filtered through the window, covering everything within its reach. What wasn’t covered fell into ominous, abyss-like shadows. The thin curtains began to sway like haunting ghosts, a storm looming not too far off in the distance. And then I saw it, a dark figure emerging from the shadows rounding Jillian’s bed. She was fast asleep, unaware of the danger. I squinted hard hoping the moon would reveal who it was. It definitely wasn’t Aunty Meryl. She was waif-thin and fragile, just like Mom was. It could only be Uncle Brian or Vince. A brief glimmer of metal told me who it was now bending over the bed. Uncle Brian didn’t wear a watch. He didn’t care for any jewelry. In fact, he didn’t even seem to care who was creeping into his children’s bedroom while they were sleeping.

I felt sick to my stomach and mentally ran through possible outcomes. I watched, still deciding whether he would actually be stupid enough to be so repulsive. Apparently, he was stupid enough. He lifted the blanket covering Jillian’s tiny body and I heard her small voice murmur awake. Vince whispered something I couldn’t make sense of and it was followed by him climbing into the bed. Jillian grew loud, no doubt having wet herself again with fear. She started to cry the same way any frightened five-year-old would, her whimpering quickly followed with a hand over the mouth and Vince whispering, “shh,” and believing it would be enough to calm her down. When the creep pulled the blanket over the both of them, I leaped out of bed and found the only object I knew which could cause damage. The bedside lamp. It wasn’t plugged in because the bulb had blown, and replacing it hadn’t been on anyone’s list. It had a nice ceramic base, heavy and large enough to achieve what I wanted. Snatching it off the table, I moved to the side Vince was on and held the lamp high above my head.

“Hey. Asshole.”

The sheet snapped back and I wished the moon were just a little brighter to reveal his shock. He would never have known what I was holding in my hands, but he certainly felt it when I brought the ceramic base crashing onto his face. It was a sickening blow and I fought the urge to vomit knowing I’d probably broken a nose and eye socket. Vince released an almighty roar that was followed by something I imagined an injured dog to sound like. Jillian screamed and rolled off her side and hid under the bed.

Vince was like a wild animal, swinging his arms and hoping he’d strike me at least once. “Fucking bitch!” he snapped, his voice sounding somewhat nasally, indicating I had caused some damage to his nose. He went to stand, offering himself into a perfect position. I struck again, this time hitting his temple and sending him stumbling. The ceramic base broke into large pieces, but I held onto a piece offering a fatally sharp edge. In the moonlight, I could just make out both his hands were holding his broken face.

“She’s five years old, asshole!”

The room illuminated but it wasn’t me who flicked the switch. I was horrified by the amount of blood pouring from between Vince’s fingers. It was an endless river and it dripped from his hands and onto the carpet. That wasn’t good!

“What the fuck is going on here?” Uncle Brian bellowed at me like I was the one in the wrong. He reminded me of angry cartoon characters who turned a furious shade of red with steam billowing from their ears. Except this was reality, and his fury resembled that of my father, and I knew all too well how those nights ended.

“He crept into Jillian’s bed,” I spat back, angry he even had to ask. The fact that Vince was even in the kids’ bedroom was bad enough. “He held his hand over her mouth and pulled the cover off her.”

“She’s fucking lying,” Vince interjected, blood spraying from his mouth. “There was a noise, so I came in to see if they were all right and then this bitch clocked me with fuck knows what. Twice!”

I turned my fury back to him. “You’re lying! You were in her bed.”

“Ask her then, go on,” he challenged.

“Jillie,” Uncle Brian said sternly. “Get out from the under the bed.” There was no movement. “Now!”

There was a brief scuffle and a teary-eyed Jillian emerged, her small body trembling as she looked timidly at all the angry adults.

“Did Uncle Vince hurt you?” her father asked.

If I’d been asked like that, I’d lie too. His tone was one not to be messed with even if what you said was the truth.

“Did he?”

Her round, terrified eyes met mine and then I saw the tell-tale sign. Urine started running down her leg. “No,” she said in a small voice.

I didn’t blame Jillian. She was terrified of the two men in front of her and telling the truth would only end her in more trouble, because that’s how these situations worked. The only blessing was that his attempt this time had been thwarted.

Uncle Brian left the room, his boots stomping down the hall. I was left with Vince-the-pedophile and three terrified children. When he made to leave, I waved the sharp ceramic piece at him until I heard Uncle Brian’s footsteps returning to the bedroom. He rounded the corner, a shotgun in his hands and instead of aiming it at the creep who’d tried to molest his daughter, the bastard aimed it at me, straight at my head.

What the hell?

I swallowed hard, realizing there was no way to talk him around. No way to make him see he was targeting the wrong person. And now I could die for protecting his daughter, something he should have been doing.

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