Butterflies In The Sky

The fire sparked in her eyes as the words slipped from my mouth. "But, I don't want to do that." I tried to be quick in my escape but her reflexes were much quicker than mine. She gripped the back of my shirt and jerked so hard it knocked the wind out of me. The collar dug into my throat and started to burn.

She brought her face close to mine and spoke through her teeth. "What did you just say?" Tears filled my eyes and words failed to form. By her reaction, I knew better than to repeat myself but also knew there would be consequences if I didn't. I stared into the fire burning in her eyes and knew something awful was coming.

"Please momma, you're hurting me," I said trying to choke back tears. An evil grin spread across her face as she shoved me backward. I stumbled and placed my hands out to break my fall. My collision with the floor was followed by a loud SNAP! I cried out in pain as I clenched my wrist and held it to my chest. My vision went black and a wave of nausea swept through my body. A laugh erupted from deep in my mother's stomach as she left me lying on the floor. I laid there gripping my wrist trying to concentrate on anything else but the pain. I was in fight or flight mode and knew I needed to get out of dodge fast before she came back.

The floor creaked and I winced as I was anticipating the next form of torture. A warm hand caressed my shoulder and a soft voice whispered, "Come on, Cara. I need you to get up, okay? I'm going to help you, on the count of three. One, two, three..." I was hoisted gently to my feet and as I started to regain my vision I saw my sister. Her long brown hair fell over skinny bruised shoulders. She smiled gently at me as we hurriedly made our way up the stairs. Once in our bedroom, she shut the door and locked it behind her. I collapsed on my bed writhing in pain as my sister got to work. From under her bed came a first aid kit and a few other items I couldn't make out.

I had yet to let go of my wrist and could feel it had practically doubled in size in my grasp. My sister brought all of her supplies to my bedside and held out her hand. Reluctantly I released my wrist and placed it in her care. Her eyes widened and she sighed deeply. "What did you do?" Her voice was almost a whisper.

I winced as she turned my wrist and gently pressed on it. "Bella peed on the floor and she wanted me to lay in it before I cleaned it up. I told her I didn't want to do it." I shivered as I remember the fire burning in her eyes as the words had slipped from my mouth. My sister stayed silent as she examined my arm. We both knew it was broken, but we also knew there was nothing that would be done about it.

"I'm going to wrap it the best I can. When mom is asleep I will grab ice and pain killers from downstairs." Slowly and gently she wrapped an ace bandage around my swollen wrist.

"Joyce you can't! She will hurt you if she catches you!" I said in a panic. My sister was older than me but she was still small. Her eyes were tired and dark like her hair. There were bruises on her arms and if her legs were ever visible they were typically speckled with dark purple spots. She was beautiful though. Behind all of the torment were a beautiful smile and kind eyes.

Joyce didn't look up from her work but I could see tears threatening at the corner of her eyes. "Cara, your wrist is broken. You need to see a doctor. We both know that, but we also know that will not happen. My job is to take care of you and love you. When somebody loves you they do things for you even when there is risk involved."

There was no denying the deep love and great bond between Joyce and me. I didn't bother debating with her. I sat quietly while she continued her work, my eyes scanned our room. The room itself was no bigger than a large closet. We had two cot-sized beds that were side by side, creating the appearance of one larger bed. Small crates were tucked underneath and held our clothes and what minimal belongings we owned. There was a single blanket and pillow on each bed, both worn out from use. Our walls were white and bare. Sometimes, I liked to imagine my bedroom looked like the ones I had seen in some of my mother's magazines. Our walls would be a gray color. Joyce would have her own side of the room and I would have mine. She would have posters of her favorite musical artists on the walls and mine would be filled with butterfly wall decals. The beds wouldn't be cots and would be piled high with the softest and prettiest blankets.

"Joyce?" My voice was a distant whisper as I daydreamed about what our room could be.

"Hmm?" She was on the last wrap-around of my wrist. The pain was still there but I was distracted to the point of not noticing.

"Do you ever think about running away?" Joyce pursed her lips and was silent. I wondered if she was imagining a life where she had actually run away. A life with a family that loved and cared for her, for us, maybe with a big house and a garden. On warm spring days, we could sit in the yard together, me chasing butterflies and Joyce bathing in the sun flipping through magazines. Once all of her supplies were packed away again she slipped them under her bed. I watched as she fell backward onto her bed and stared at the ceiling. "I'm coming with you." I broke the silence.

She didn't argue or tell me no instead she said, "It doesn't matter you know. We could run as far as we wanted to, and we would most likely end up brought back or with nowhere to go. The only real escape is if someone saves us, which probably won't happen, or we die." Her voice was meant to be a whisper on the last word but the way it sounded on her lips made me shiver. I want to be free, I don't want to die.

Joyce and I remained silent so we could hear when our mother went to bed. As usual, she didn't call us for dinner. She probably didn't make dinner, and even if she had we wouldn't have been allowed to eat it. Depending on her mood she would let us eat whatever was left. It typically wasn't much as she only made a portion big enough for one. She didn't even come to check on us, which didn't shock me. The way it worked with her was out of sight out of mind. We were only tormented when we crossed her path and with the only bathroom being downstairs, and the necessity for food and water, most of the time it was inevitable to cross paths. Eventually, the house was silent, and when Joyce peeked into the hallway everything was dark. Night had fallen, and the house became even scarier. There was no way of knowing what was lurking in the dark, and in this house that was dangerous.

I crept behind Joyce as we made our way slowly towards the kitchen. Our limbs aimlessly moved gently searching in front of us for objects blocking our path. The house was small and quaint. It had great potential to be a beautiful starter home for a family and it possibly would've been that had it ended up with any other family. Most of the time it looked like a war zone on the inside. Curtains chewed at the bottom from the dog, trash everywhere, broken furniture and objects from altercations with our mother, a fridge barely filled with enough food for one person, and barely enough items to keep ourselves clean. From the outside though, a passerby would never guess the kind of torment or the conditions of the inside unless they stood and examined every tiny detail of the home.

Moving from room to room during the day was a quick maneuver, mainly to avoid our mother. As we moved in the night, it felt like ages had passed before we even made it into the next room. Bella heard us enter the kitchen, and we jumped at the tiny taps that came from her claws on the tile floor. We stood still listening for any other sign of movement or life. When Joyce was sure it was safe, she began feeling around the counter and the cabinets trying to find the pain killers for my wrist. Adrenaline and fear was heavily coursing through me and I no longer felt my broken wrist, just a strong urge to run back to the safety of our room. Joyce eventually found the bottle and silently retreived two small pills, then gradually made her way to the freezer for ice. Within seconds she had the ice pack in hand and we were once again making the long journey back to our room.

The floor in another room creaked and stopped us in our tracks. Joyce shoved me behind the couch in the living room as the light flashed on. "What in the hell is going on down here?" I heard my mother hiss. I held my breath and my body quivered in fear.

Joyce's voice was small when she responded. "I was just grabbing something."

"Oh, so you're stealing from me? You rotten little twit!" Anger and hatred were pouring out of our mother. I squeezed my eyes shut, please don't hurt Joyce, please.

This time Joyce's voice came back louder, stronger. "My sister, your daughter, has a broken wrist and desperately needs medical attention. I'm not stealing, I'm taking care of a mess you made!" I peered over the top of the couch. Joyce was smaller than our mother, not by much, but as she spoke to her she appeared much bigger. I could see my mother was taken back by her response and sudden strength.

"How dare you. How DARE you!" She lunged at Joyce. Before Joyce had the chance to move our mothers hands were around her throat and they were on the floor. Once again I could see the fire burning in our mothers eyes and I wasn't sure there was anyway way to put it out. I was consumed by the sight of my mother overpowering my sister, and my sister struggling to fight back. Her small fragile body that was beaten down and malnourished was struggling to get the hands off her throat. Joyce's eyes met mine and I could see what little fire was left in them was fading. I squeezed my eyes shut and tears slipped down my cheeks. Fight Joyce, please, keep fighting. When I opened them Joyce was not putting up much of a fight anymore and I began to feel sick. Without thinking I picked up the lamp on the table and with all of my strength connected it with the back of my mothers head. She released Joyce and grasped the back of her head as she yelped in pain.

Joyce gasped, and in one swift movement I had her up and moving hurriedly toward the front door. As soon as our feet hit the sidewalk we took off running. "Help, somebody help us! Please! Anybody! Help!" We could hear the pounding of heavy footsteps behind us. Without looking back we knew it was our mother chasing us blindly in rage. Lights across the neighborhood were coming on and curtains were being drawn back. Finally, people were seeing us. They were noticing what went on behind the door of that one house in the neighborhood. They saw us and they were going to help us.

We eased up our pace as red and blue lights flashed onto the street and the sounds of sirens filled the air. The sound of the footsteps behind us stopped too. I finally turned around to face our mother and that fire in her eyes was fading. She had been defeated. We were finally going to be free. A warm night breeze hit my face as I took in the sight of neighbors peeking out their windows, officers jumping out of their vehicles, and tears flowing from Joyce's face. A police officer wrapped us in his jacket as another one cuffed our mother. I heard Joyce mention to one of the officers about my wrist which was now starting to throb again. The adrenaline was wearing off and I began to feel tired, and was overcome with relief. We are free.