The sin eater 4

The parents

The father is shouting and hitting doors. He breaks the window in an attempt to make her hear.  The banging of his fists on the huge wooden door is infinitely echoed.  The windows are shaking and my nine year old heart is shuttering.  He only does that when he’s drunk the brandy.  She can’t hear because the music is too loud. She is a swirling mess of Barbara Streisand, cheap cigarettes and even cheaper wine.  I lie in my bed. Me and the roaches. She’s let him in the front door now, thank God. We live on the High Street and this weekly occurrence has caused the entire world to know the shame. Nowhere to hide. Sigh. It is what it is, I guess.

I can hear shouting above Barbara. The noise gets louder and louder. I put the pillow over my head and I start unconsciously rocking myself.  Shit the sheets are wet. Am I crying? Why can’t I just sleep?  I start breathing. Slowly. I have to think. I have to have a plan of action in case he comes in.  For me and the roaches. I hear him hit her. I hear her cry out and fall. The music gets louder in my head and for a split second my attention is taken away from the unfolding drama. 

In that split second he has managed to disentangle himself from Barbara and her and walk down to burst open my bedroom door. FUCK. My windows are barred. My only hope is to out maneuver him.  I can’t hear what he is saying even though he is shouting at me. Whatever he is shouting at me is the reason for his outburst tonight.  I know that I will hear about it at school because he will have told everybody at the bar where he got drunk tonight.  He punches a hole in my wall. Again. My poor wall.  As he lunges forward to hit me with his enormous fists I slip past him and into the adjoining room where I find her cowering on her bed. Barbara doesn’t give you courage. The forgotten paragraph in the music is the one which tells you to protect your child. She’s too far gone to help anyways. He recovers enough to follow me but is distracted by the need to vomit. I hear him heaving heavily before it all comes out in one mass.  I can smell it. It’s disgusting. He’s disgusting. She’s disgusting. Barbara is disgusting. I’m disgusting.

I run to the opposite side of the house near the kitchen. I hide in the pantry.  The roaches have told me where to hide. I’m not alone in the madness.  He never finds me in the pantry. The dog, however finds me and together we curl up in a corner while the house settles down.  I rock myself to sleep. My tears are all licked up. 

Early morning I let the dog out and clean the vomit up. The father wakes up and in a flourish of regret and guilt makes a huge breakfast for the whole house. Eggs, toast, sausages, beans and crispy bacon. The mother is smiling, pretending that nothing happened. I don’t say anything. I paint another picture to cover the hole in the wall.  A ship to get out of here and a house to live in. I know tonight it will happen all over again, but for now I sit down and choke those fucking eggs down. I eat because I am their sin eater.