PROTECTION
AUTHOR'S NOTE: I DO NOT OWN RENT.
"It's okay," she held him tightly in her arms, rocking him back in forth, trying to calm the heavy sobs sputtering out of him like puffs of gray fog from a smokestack, "Hush now, they'll hear you."
He continued to sob and she continued to rock. It was hard for her to see her big brother like this. Wasn't he supposed to be the one protecting her, not the other way around? She did not despise him for it, or even mention it. He needed her right now and she understood.
"Here," she pressed a tissue to his nose, "to stop the bleeding. It will be okay…you just can't aggravate them so much."
"I don't do it on purpose," he sobbed again, holding the tissue to his crimson nostril, staining it, "I just do not know what else to do."
"They just don't understand," she held him tighter in her arms, "They don't know why you do things like this and dress like this."
"And they think I do?" He snapped, "I never asked to be like this! It's just who I am!"
"I know," she planted a kiss on top of his head, "I know that. They just can't see."
"They used to love me."
"They still do," she tried to sound convincing, but her voice was lacking.
"Yeah…right. If they still loved me, would they have done this?" The accent was coming out strong and broken, peppered with Hispanic spice and a dash of his own attitude. She loved his accent, but only heard it when he was angry or upset.
"They just…" she didn't finish her sentence, she didn't know how to.
"I need to get away."
"You can't leave. They will come around…"
"When? I cannot sit around here and wait on them to see. I need to get away."
"What will I do without you?"
"You need a brother, not…me."
"You are my brother!"
"You need someone who can protect you. I can't do that, not when I can't even protect myself."
"But…"
"This is the fifth time," he said, "Five times he has beaten me for being who I am. I do not know how to be different; if I did, I would."
"Daddy just…" she stopped, not knowing what else to say. She couldn't stand sitting up in her room, listening to the screams downstairs. He didn't deserve that. No one deserved that.
"Go to bed," he ordered, standing up, pulling himself from her grasp, "You're tired."
"I don't want to."
"Look," he kissed her forehead, "I will be fine. I always am. Just get some rest, okay?"
"But…"
"Don't argue with me," he rolled his eyes, "You're so damn stubborn!"
"So are you," she shot back, and he had to admit, she had a point.
Finally, she fell back against her pillow and closed her eyes, sleep drowning her in its wistful waves. He stared at her as she slept, knowing that this was hard on her. He hated when she had to bandage him up, and he hated it when she had to be the one to hold him in his arms. He was the big brother, he was supposed to be the strong one. It was killing her, and he knew it. The leukemia wasn't making her weaker, this was.
Silently, he stuffed a pillowcase full of blankets, sheets, a towel, and lastly, a picture of them. It had been taken at her seventh birthday party. He couldn't believe that was just five years ago. With another kiss to her forehead, he grabbed his pillowcase and headed out the window.
When Isa woke up the next morning, her brother wasn't there. She hadn't really expected him to be. All that was left of him was a note:
I need to protect you, and this is the only way I know how.
I love you – always.
Angel.