Title- Childhood
Rated- K+
Disclaimer- I own nothing but the words.
Spoilers- Happens pre- show, so none really. Except maybe for Nesting Dolls, and One Hit Wonder.
Summery- Her childhood had been perfect, even if she wasn't a child for long.
A/N- I thought up this little fic-let months ago and just got down to writing it.
Her childhood had been perfect. Her mother was affectionate, and her father loving. She got along well with her older brother, and her dog was her best friend.
When she was a child, her father would push her on the swing in the backyard during the summer and the wind would run through her hair. His hands were strond and sure as the pressed against her back, pushing her higher and higher. Nearby, her brother played with their dog, rolling round and round in the sweet smelling grass. Their laughter echoed through their home.
When she was a child, she would sit on the counter and make sugar cookies with her mother. She would mix the eggs, sugar and butter together and her mother would watch her warmly. They would sing along with the radio, loudly and usually off key. The entire kitchen would be covered in flour, and it had been perfect.
When she was a child, she would play games with her brother. Long nights were spent in the living room, seeing who would be the champion in poker, black jack or crazy eights. Her brother would sit across from her and smile that secretive smile. She never knew that he was letting her win. The games were loud and rowdy, and usually ended in a wrestling match.
When she was a child, her parents only fought when she was asleep in her room, dreaming happy dreams.
Sara Sidle was not a child for long.
When she was six, the Bed and Breakfast her family ran stopped getting as much business. The guests she was used to seeing every summer would smile at her sadly before driving away. The children she played with every year stared at her strangely before running to their parents. They never came back.
Her parents started fighting louder and more often. Their yells would echo through the house while she hid under her bed, her hands over her ears. She sang "You Are My Sunshine" over and over again to block screams.
Sara used to wonder if they argued because of the loss of business, or if people stopped coming because of the arguing. She asked her mother once, and all she got was a bruised cheek.
When she was seven, empty alcohol bottles littered all the countertops in the kitchen. Her mother would stumble around the house half drunk, and it was rare for her father to be seen without a beer bottle in hand. The guests would stare in shock before turning and pretending they hadn't seen.
Sara realized that she could not remember the last time she had smelled fresh baked cookies.
Her brother grew cold and distant. His new friends would come and stand outside the inn, smoking cigarettes and trading crude jokes. She wished she could stand out there with them, but her brother would shoo her away. He didn't have time for his baby sister anymore.
Sara Sidle started growing up.
Her dog ran away when she was eight. When she left for school in the morning, he licked her hand gently, and wagged his tail when she patted him on the head. She had thrown her arms around his neck and whispered that she loved him. She had felt his eyes on her as she walked down the driveway.
He was gone when she got home. Her mother had left the door open, and he had bolted.
Sara didn't blame him. She only wished she could have run away with him.
But she still cried herself to sleep that night.
She started pushed herself in school. She needed to be the best. The teachers would look at her work and smile, and her papers always came back with stars and words of encouragement. She drank it in. She craved the praise that the teachers gave her because her parents didn't take the time to notice their daughter's report card.
When she was nine, she called a cab to come take her mother to the hospital for the first time, since her father was passed out on the couch. A month later, she started wearing long sleeved shirts to hide the bruises on her own arms.
She quickly learned the cover stories- she fell down stairs, or bumped into the wall. She loved her parents and they would never hurt her. She rehearsed the lines in the privacy of her room until she thought they were convincing.
But the doctors would smile sadly as they set her broken bones. She knew that they knew what went on in her seemingly perfect home. But they never said anything, just gave her a lollypop and a pat on the head.
And Sara grew up a little more.
When she was ten, she accidentally found her brothers bag of marijuana. She had been eating her lunch when her parents had started yelling, and her brother's room was closer then hers. She found the bag of brown weeds when she dove under the bed. She didn't know what it was; later she gave it to her mother.
She tried to explain, tell him that she didn't mean to, but her brother just stared at her coldly before turning away.
Sara Sidle was eleven, her father hit her mother one too many times. When the yelling had started, Sara had done what she always had before, and hid in her room. The fight had dragged on for so long, she had wondered if it would ever stop. There was a particularly loud shriek from her mother, and then the silence fell. Sara thought that it had been over. She crept down the stairs carefully, silently. The air smelled funny, like copper. She snuck into the kitchen and found her mother sitting next to her father's body, absent-mindedly stroking his blood-soaked hair.
She only remembered flashes from that night.
She remembered wrapping her arms around the neck of the policeman as he carried her out of the house.
She remembered her mother's eyes as they led her away. They were cold and empty, and scared Sara more then anything else ever had before.
That night, sitting in the back of a police car, watching the neighbors pour out of their homes, was the last night of her childhood.
Sara Sidle had grown up.