Schrei So Laut Du Kannst

Once more, Tom and Bill slept in my bed with me, whispering about their home in Germany. Or at least Tom was. Bill had already fallen asleep.

"It sounds amazing."

"It is. You should come visit."

"I'd love that."

"Are you sure you'll be okay when we leave?"

"Yeah. But that's four months away."

"I know. I just don't want to have to worry about you. Too much anyway."

A smile graced my lips. "You have my address, and I'll even give you my email, too."

"Good. I want to be able to talk to you every day. Thank you again for the album. I really appreciate it."

"You're welcome again."

He sighed and was silent for a few moments. Finally, I interrupted the quiet comfort.

"Tom?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you for being here for me."

"You're welcome."

Once his breathing evened out, I crawled over Bill and walked to my bathroom. I could see my parents sitting at opposite ends of their bed, dirty looks being shot between them. I quickly used the bathroom and jumped when I heard my mother's shouting. Almost immediately, World War III awoke from its dormancy, and I was caught in the crossfire. I watched as my parents stood, screaming, occasionally taking steps toward each other. Then I saw what I wished I hadn't: my father raised his hand and slapped my mother across the face. Mom stumbled back from the force and scrambled for the clay sculpture I had made for them in fifth grade. It crashed against the wall and jarred me from my stupefied paralysis. I ran to my bedroom, and slammed and locked the door. I heard the fighting stop, and the twins both pulled me to the bed, holding me while I sobbed from shock.

"Just cry," Bill commanded gently, and Tom ran his hand over my back.

"Katy? Baby, open up."

"Katelyn Louise, open this door."

"Just go away!"

"You will be grounded if you don't unlock this door right now, young lady."

"I'm going to sleep. Can't we talk about this tomorrow?"

Bill rose to his feet, grabbed his notebook and a pen, and began humming and writing. Tom joined in on the throaty noise, and I watched them have their twin moment. When they finished, Bill had scribbled out about half as much as what was left.

"What is that?"

"A song."

"You play music?"

"Yeah."

"Hang on a second."

I walked into my closet and found my acoustic guitar. I had gotten it when I was eleven, but I never took the time to learn. Tom's eyes lit up, and he reached for it. Willingly, I gave up the musical instrument. Bill began the humming, and Tom started to play.

"What's it called?"

"You can't know yet. It's not done."

"Fine. Be mean," I joked.

"We will."

I laughed quietly and curled up under my blankets. The elder boy placed the guitar against my desk and sat next to me. Bill kissed my cheek.

"Get some sleep, sweetie."

"Aye, aye, captiain."

The last thing I remember seeing was a grin plastered on Bill's lips and Tom whispering "Süße Träume."