Stronger

I hear them. They’re fighting, again. I don’t understand why they must fight in the middle of the night. The neighbors aren’t stupid; they know they’re not in love anymore. You’d have to be blind not to see that. Or in my case, hear. Crash. They’re getting physical again. I get up from my bed and walk quickly to the door noiselessly. Even if I did make a noise, they wouldn’t know. I open the door and I’m instantly swallowed up by the darkness. My eyes adjust hastily and I move silently down the hallway towards the kitchen. That’s where they are.

Another crash. My mom threw a plate. I sure hope it didn’t hit my dad. It’s hard to take one of their sides though. I can’t choose. Okay, that’s a lie. I love my father more than my mother. It’s a horrible thing to say, but it’s true. My mother is more hostile, but my father is an instigator. Great combo right? Wrong.

I near the opening of the kitchen that connects to the living room as well and I notice something horribly wrong with this picture. Leah, my little sister, is listening and watching the whole thing. My parents have no idea; they’re too caught up in their row. I try to get her attention, but she’s glued to her spot next to the sofa. She tries to get up, to move, to get out of the horrible scene set before her, but all she manages is to stand and walk to the opening of the kitchen.

No! She can’t do that! She can’t be seen by them! They’ll start yelling about how she shouldn’t have been listening. I do the only thing I can do: I walk out into the open and pick up my sister. Both of my parents stop to look at me, but all I can do is glare back. I can’t believe they’d fight in front of an eight year old. They both look stunned as I walk away, but as soon as I shut my bedroom door the fight starts again.

I move to my bed and cradle Leah in my arms. She’s silently crying into my chest and it’s all I can do to keep myself from crying as well. We sit for hours; I’m not sure how long it was, but it was still dark out when she finally fell asleep. I don’t dare bring her into her own room. She might wake up frightened, so I tuck her close to me as I lay under my covers as well. I can’t fall asleep. The fighting has stopped, but I still can’t wrap my brain around the fact that they fought in front of Leah. How someone can be so obtuse to a little girl is beyond me.

As I lay, trying to figure out my parents reasoning, I stroke my sister’s hair and look at how tiny she is. She’s barely eight years old, yet she’s so intuitive. She always knows what I’m thinking even if I don’t say a word. She’s strong too. This is the first time I’ve seen her break down because of our parents fighting. It tears me apart to see her like this. This can’t go on much longer. I have to talk to my parents and it has to be tomorrow.

Finally, after thinking for hours, I decide it’s time to sleep. I pull Leah closer to me and soon I’m lost in a dreamless sleep.

The next morning, I awake to see Leah’s bright amber eyes looking directly at me: my eyes. “Why did you do that?” she asks me quietly. “Do what?” She furrows her brow in thought and sighs deeply. “Take me away from them last night. Why’d you do it Rocco?” It’s my turn to sigh now. “I didn’t want you to witness that. They shouldn’t have fought in front of you. It was wrong…” I trail off, not knowing what else to say. She seems to understand this. She curls closer into my chest and I feel like I want to cry.

“Why do they fight so violently?” Leah suddenly asks, barely above a whisper. I can tell she’s holding in a sob. I kiss the top of her head. “I don’t know Lee. I wish I knew. They’re not happy anymore.” She sighs brokenly and wipes her eyes on my shirt. “You should talk to them. They’ll listen to you, not me. I’m only eight,” she says a bit more clearly. “They need a divorce Rocco. I can’t live like this anymore. I’m…s-scared.” That was the first time I’d ever heard her use that word. My mouth parts out of shock and I pull her face out of hiding, looking directly into her eyes.

“Leah…I...I have to talk to them. You’re right. I have to do it…today.” Wow, I came to that conclusion pretty quickly. She nods approvingly then sits up and begins to play with a strand of her long brown hair. “Get dressed. After I’m done talking to them we’ll go for ice cream to get out of this house,” I say to her confidently. She smiles and kisses me then hops off my bed and walks out the door.

I quickly get dressed and go talk to my parents. The talk goes well, surprisingly. They tell me they’re getting a divorce, but they just didn’t know when to tell the both of us, so they bring Leah in too. She’s too scared to sit by herself so she sits on my lap. Thankfully, she’s extremely tiny for her age. The only thing left is for me to decide who I want to live with. Leah automatically goes to my mom because she’s the caregiver (yeah right) in the household. I decide to live with her too, but only for Leah. My father understands completely, even though I can tell he’s disappointed. I hate seeing that expression on his face. At least I can visit him whenever I want. I am fifteen after all.

So, my parents divorce and I hear no more fighting, obviously. My father lives in Ireland somewhere and my mother moved me and Leah to France. Anytime possible I leave to either see my father or to go to my best friend’s house: Dusty. I usually bring Leah along as well, seeing as Dusty’s younger cousin is Leah’s age and they seem to get along really well.

I’m about to start school at Beauxbatons and I couldn’t be more depressed. That’s a ballerina school, in my opinion. But it’s better than going to Durmstrang still and worrying about my sister night and day. Dusty helps as much as he can, as well as his older brother Axel who Dusty lives with. Their family has gone through many traumatic events as well so it’s nice to have someone to relate to. Hence why Dusty is my best friend.

Leah still likes to sleep in my bed with me, only because she’s scared of our mom. I think I might try to get a court date to give my dad the authority to take Leah back. For now, Leah stays with the Maguire’s as much as possible and it seems not to bother mom.

This experience will never fully go away, I know that. But at least we no longer have to live in fear of our parents dragging us in on a fight and possibly hurting us. If anything, this has made me into a man. Prematurely, but I still feel more mature than I did a few months ago. It’s made me stronger. My life isn’t perfect, but whose is? I’ll continue to count on the people close to me and I think that’s all I can ask for right now.