Running From Reality

*FLASHBACKS*

At seven years old, halfway through second grade, my family had moved out of state to a smaller town, in a house that had once belonged to my grandparents, who had recently died and left the house to my mother. On my first day of school, I had my hair in pigtails, a pale lilac sundress and white sweater laid out the night before so my mother wouldn’t have to pick it out in the morning.

I walked into the classroom, scared of my new environment, and waited quietly as the teacher introduced me to the class. I was put at a desk that was pushed against one that belonged to a petite blonde girl, who smiled at me when I sat. “Hiya,” she said, waving slightly. “I’m Winifred, but you can call me Freddy,” she said, still smiling.

I returned the smile shyly, and introduced myself, being careful not to mispronounce any words. “Hi, I’m Andrea. You could call me Andi, if you want to. That’s what my brother Justin calls me.”

Freddy’s eyes lit up. “You have a brother? I have a brother! He’s older than me, and never lets me forget it! He’s only a year older, though,” she said, scrunching her nose when she mentioned her brother being older.

“My brother, he’s old! He’s fourteen, but he never holds it against me that I’m younger,” I told her, and we continued talking. It was the start of a beautiful friendship.

Three weeks later, I spent the night at her house, and met her older brother, Alex. To tell you the truth, I didn’t talk much around him. My parents had raised me to believe talking to boys and men outside of the family wasn’t completely appropriate, and I had no trouble following that rule.

***

“Dad, Mom, I have something to tell you,” Justin said. I looked at my brother, eyes filled with admiration for the now seventeen year old boy. It had been his birthday yesterday, and Justin had been writing out thank you cards for his presents. They gave him a curious look, and followed him into the den. I walked slowly after them, trying to readjust my feet in the uncomfortable shoes that Mom had made me wear.

Seconds after arriving in the den, I heard the words my brother said very clearly. “Mom, Dad…I’m gay.” Mom, her face went from shock, to anger, to disgust, ending with her bursting into tears, muttering, “I raised a faggot! Where did I go wrong?” under her breath repeatedly. My father, he looked betrayed.

“Get out,” he said, his voice filled with anger despite how calm it sounded on the surface. “Get out of my home. You are not my son. My son could never be a faggot,” he said, his voice laced with disgust on the last word. Justin remained silent, only making his way in the direction of his room. I followed only to the bottom of the steps, our parents still in the den.

Not even a minute later, he was in front of me, a large duffel bag, a garbage bag, and a backpack filled with what I assumed was all of his stuff. Looking up at him, I could see tears brimming, a rejected expression gracing his features. For all the knowledge I lacked of what was going on do to the simple fact that I was ten, I hugged him, tightly, feeling his shirt dampen where my face was pressed against his torso.

“Hey,” he said softly, pulling me away from him and wiping my own eyes. “I’ll be back, don’t worry. And I’ll always be with you until then, in here,” he said, tapping the place over my heart, “and here,” he continued, tapping my forehead. “You won’t forget me, right?” I asked, biting my lip. My voice sounded tiny, even to me, and all I wanted at that moment was to never let go of him.

“I’ll never, ever forget you, Andi, I never could. I love you,” he said, kissing the top of my head and hugging me tightly before leaving.

And that was, though I didn’t know it then, the last time I would see my brother for almost seven years.

***

Thirteen days after Justin was kicked out, Dad started drinking. It wasn’t something that started gradually, and built up to how it was now, no. He came home that night drunk, and it was a daily occurrence after that. But Mom did nothing to stop him. She just let him continue to drown his liver in the drink.

Twenty-eight days after Dad started drinking, the abuse started. I came home from school one day, and saw Dad on the couch, glass in hand. From the empty bottles around him, I could tell that it had been a long day. I slipped my backpack off my shoulders, holding it in front of my legs as I walked up the stairs to my room, slamming my door once I got there.

A minute later, Dad walked—or rather, stumbled—into the room. “You know you aren’t allowed to slam doors, Andrea! It’s unladylike,” he slurred, anger evident in his voice. “So? I don’t give a crap what’s ladylike and what’s not,” I replied, looking him in the eye. “That’s it!” he said, slamming his fist down on the desk in my room. “I am sick of your disrespect! You will behave like a proper lady, even if I have to beat it into you!”

I snorted, not believing he would lay a hand on me. And on that day, in a sense, I was right. His hands never touched me, but they did throw the glass, still half full of vodka, at me. It hit my side hard, and a few of the now-broken shards were in my skin. The alcohol stung the few cuts, adding more pain. “You will respect me,” he slurred, before leaving the room.

***

The next day was Friday, and I went to Freddy’s right after school, like I had for the last few weeks since Justin left. Knocking three times like I always did, I waited for the door to be opened. Alex soon appeared, and his usual smile was on his face. “Hey Andi, you spending the night again?” he asked as he opened the door wider for me to walk in.

“Yep, it’s a weekly thing now, didn’t Freddy tell you?” I said, plopping down on the couch. He sat on the same couch, his back against the arm rest so he was facing me. “Nah, but its Freddy. She forgets the minor details,” he said, shrugging. I raised my eyebrow at him. “I’m a minor detail?” I asked, feigning hurt in my voice.

“Oh, no, Andi, I didn’t mean it like that! I meant that, it being a weekly thing,” he rambled, but I cut him off, laughing. “Relax Alex, I’m just messing with you. No need to get your panties in a bunch.”

We smiled at each other, and continued talking. When Freddy bound into the room ten minutes later, we had her voice chiming in on the conversation, filling the air with laughter.

***

Two years passed, and soon I was twelve, being abused verbally, sexually, and physically, cutting, hating life, and not to forget the fact I was madly in love with my best friend’s brother. Yeah, that was pretty important.

No one knew, either. The only two people who I talk to anymore were Freddy and Alex, both of which couldn’t be told for obvious reasons. They didn’t know about the abuse or cutting, I was careful to hide the signs of both. They would never have to know.

It was a normal Saturday; I was at the Finch resident like I normally was. Freddy had left about an hour ago for the swim practice she had, and I was supposed to be spending time with my other best friend, though he was nowhere to be found. I shrugged it off; it wouldn’t kill me to spend the next hour and a half until Freddy got home by myself.

Looking down at my appearance, I realized that at three something in the afternoon, I was still in my flannel pajamas. Grabbing my bag from Freddy’s room, I headed for the bathroom. Hopping in the shower, I was back out in a bit more than ten minutes. I dried myself gently, doing my best not hurt myself more. I had only slipped into my underwear when I heard the door open behind me.

“Oh shi—Fuck, I’m sorry Andi!” I heard Alex say through the now shut door. I groaned inwardly. That wasn’t embarrassing at all. I dressed quickly in a long sleeve dark gray sweater that fell more than halfway down my thigh and a pair of black leggings before opening the bathroom door quietly. When I saw that Alex was standing out there, I looked at my feet, to embarrassed to meet his gaze.

“I’m really sorry that I walked in on you, Andi, I really am, but I have to ask something a bit more important. Why are you covered in bruises?” I gasped, I hadn’t considered that when he walked in! Fuck!

“Oh, um….it’s nothing….I fell?” I said, though it was more like a question. He put a finger under my chin, lifting my head and forcing my gaze to meet his. “Andi,” he said softly, “tell me the truth. Please.”

His eyes were bearing into mine, and I cracked. The tears I had refused to let flow in the past few years were streaming down my face. Alex took my hand hesitantly, pulling me into his room and onto his bed. “Andi?” he asked. And then I told him what had happened to me since Justin left.

“Andi,” he said, pulling me into a light hug, obviously concerned about hurting me. “You did not deserve to have any of that happen to you! It’s not your fault your supposed family is full of sick fucks, you know that right?”

My reply was muffled by his shoulder, but it think he understood that it was a yes.

“And you know that both Freddy and I are always here for you? And that I—we love you more than life itself?” I nodded, my head still against his shoulder. Half an hour passed with us staying in this position, but Alex decided to lift my face to meet his. He used his thumb to brush away the few tears that still clung to my face. Then, he placed a gentle kiss on my forhead.

I was blushing furiously when he pulled away, causing him to ask why. I looked down, mumbling that it was nothing. “No, Andi, no more telling me something is nothing,” he pleaded with me gently, taking both my hands in his. I took a deep breathe, hoping it would help me with what I was about to say.

“I…love you, Alex, and not…in a brother/sister sort of way…or in a friend way,” I said, not meeting his eyes. Once again, he brought my face upward to have my gaze meet his. Soon, he was leaning in closer, his lips pressing lightly onto mine. “I love you too,” he said in a quiet voice. Smiling, I wrapped my arms around him tightly, vowing to never let him go.