Chapter Sixteen

The light creeping through the blinds nudges my eyelids open. Rolling onto my back, I rub my eyes and stare at the ceiling, wondering why I feel so sluggish. It feels like I have the flu. My body aches, my head hurts, and I have a severe lack of energy.

What the hell happened last night?

I peek under the covers and sigh in relief when I see I'm dressed.

Wait. I don"t remember changing into my pajamas. Where"s my phone?

There"s a knock at the door. I turn my head to glance at the clock. It"s 8:00 a.m. Great. I"m late, and that"s probably Mom wondering why the hell I"m not at school.

Pulling myself up, I lean my back against the headboard.

Another knock.

"Yeah, come in." I drag the covers up to my chest. Even my voice lacks energy.

"Hey. You"re awake. You feeling ok?"

"Jo?" I whisper.

I remember now.

It wasn"t a dream.

He was here last night.

And Doni was too.

"Cat caught your tongue, Sis?" He quietly laughs as he strides toward my bed.

"Fuck. Don"t cry." He wipes the tears from my face. I didn"t realize I was crying.

"How are you here?" My voice cracks.

Josiah sits in my desk chair. He bulked up during his time in jail. He"s always kept his body in good shape, but this whole new look is more like Bane from the Batman movie.

He"s wearing a plain black T-shirt showing off his arm sleeve tattoos. On his right arm, it"s a picture of Elisa in black ink with angel wings and doves swarming around her, leading her to heaven. Josiah got that tattoo a few weeks after Elisa passed away. It"s one of my favorite designs.

He lifts his baseball cap just enough to rub his buzz cut and leans forward. "I got out early for good behavior." He wasn't supposed to get out until after the new year.

"Does anyone know you"re out?"

"Only Mom. I haven"t seen Dad—yet." He emphasizes the word "yet" through clenched teeth. But, of course, Mom would be the first to know and not tell me.

I have played and beaten this game since we were kids. Josiah was—is— Mom"s favorite child. I don"t doubt she loves me, but Mom would go to the ends of the earth for her son. Eventually, I became numb with her Josiah-related jabs. Why can"t you be more like your brother? Words I can handle, but it was the actions that tore me apart. Josiah"s birthday celebrations were full of love, laughter, games, and cake. Everything a child should receive on their birthday. But as for me, my birthdays were usually forgotten.

But not by Josiah. He never missed my special day. Every year a chocolate cupcake with strawberry frosting and white sprinkles would be waiting for me on my dresser (made by our neighbor Ms. Ephifanía), along with a homemade birthday card and a fun day to do whatever I wanted.

After Josiah was arrested, Dad's beatings worsened, but at least my pain and cries silenced Mom"s spiteful words. Over time, her voice became

nothing but a whisper. The damage had already been done. I feel defeated, so I stopped fighting a long time ago. Like I've said, my relationship with my mother is complicated.

"I asked her not to say anything to you."

I know Josiah. He'd do anything to soften the blow. Josiah is her baby, and I"m the child who got in the way.

"It"s fine. I"m just glad you"re out and ok. You are ok, right?"

"Yeah, Sis, I"m ok. How about you? The last letter you sent me said that you were going to therapy."

I nod.

"Is it helping?" he asks with parental concern.

"Yeah, in some ways."

Josiah"s soft smile only lasts a few seconds before his eyebrows pull together, turning his smile into a frown. He leans closer and takes my hands in his. His eyes never meet mine as he rubs his thumb over the front of my hand. He looks so sad and full of pain. The way he looked after Elisa passed away.

"I'm so sorry Jo," I whisper, keeping my head down and swallowing the lump in my throat.

"Stop. You have nothing to be sorry for. I know it hasn"t been easy for you, Sade. I can"t take away the pain, the bruises"— he chokes out the words— "the hurtful words, and I can"t repair your broken heart." He lifts his head to face me. His dark chocolate brown eyes are overflowing with unshed tears. The anguish across his face breaks my heart. For years, Josiah took the brunt of the beatings, but it"s the emotional and mental abuse that weighs heavily on your soul. Struggling to figure out what you did wrong to make your parents hate you so much or cause you so much pain. Josiah took on my weight of the abuse. Yet certain words can never be forgotten, no matter how hard you try to claw the thoughts out of your brain. It"s like listening to the sadistic lyrics of a song you despise on repeat. The song never moves on to the next track.

"I fucking hate everything that happened to you. I hate that I couldn"t save you or take you away from all of this bullshit. I"m not making that same mistake again," he says with determination and anger in his eyes.

"I found a place, well, I"m moving in the apartment above Hector's garage. It has two bedrooms. You can stay with me until you go away to college or whatever the fuck you wanna do." His face is full of hope that I"ve never seen before. But it"s only false hope to me.

"Jo, I can"t leave Mom behind," I say quietly.

"Fuck Mom, and fuck Dad," he snaps.

"Jo." I know he doesn't mean that.

"They fucked you over, and they won"t stop. You deserve a better life. Mom made her bed the day she decided to keep that piece of shit around. Remember, it's not just you anymore to think of."

I missed this.

I missed someone fighting for me.

"And why do you care about Mom all of a sudden when she treated you like shit?" he questions with one raised eyebrow.

He"s right. After what Mom put me through before he was arrested, why should I care what happens to her? Well, it"s what Abuelita said to me a few years ago, but also because she's my mom.

"Tu madre también es una víctima. Ella preferiría verte vivo y luchar que enterrado en una tumba. Escapar es una sentencia de muerte. Tu vida comienza cuando eres libre. Cuando seas libre, ella también lo hará.(Your mother is also a victim. She would rather see you alive and fight than buried in a grave.

Escaping is a death sentence. Your life begins when you are free. When you are free, so is she). "I repeat Abuela's words to him.

Even though Mom has done me wrong, she expressed her love for me in some moments. Of course, these moments are tiny fragments of hope, but at least it"s better than nothing.

Josiah looks at me with a questioning expression. "I don't know what you just said. What I do know is you need to pack your shit and come with me to Hector"s." He lets go of my hand and walks toward my closet like a man on a mission, grabbing my duffle bag.

"Um, what are you doing?"

"What the fuck you think I"m doing? Packing your shit."

"Josiah, I—"

"No! Stop. Look at your face and neck! He fucking attacked you again! And God knows how many times since I've been gone." he snaps, eyes full of anger and desperation. He raises his head for a few seconds and lowers it to his chest, releasing a heavy sigh. With both fists clenched to his sides, he looks up at me with a face full of sorrow.

"What about Sophie?"

"Don't." I give him a warning look.

"I don"t want you to stay here anymore. I"m not going to stand by and watch Dad beat you to death. You aren"t the only one who will suffer if he does," he says with a brittle tone. "I"m not going to bury my sister."

Without hesitation, I remove myself from underneath the covers and run into his arms, holding onto him as if my life depends on it. Tears cascade down my face as I silently cry into his arms.

"I can"t lose you, Sis," he whispers in my hair before resting his chin on top of my head.

"You won't."

"So, what do you think? Are you going to move in with me?" he asks casually, still holding onto me.

It would be great to live on my own without the fear of waking up to a fist in the face, a kick to my gut, or an arm being yanked out of its socket. Just for once, I want to know what peace feels like. But if I did leave, what would happen to Mom? How bad would he get if I left? Or would she follow me? Dad's let up since the beatings have been solely focused on me. Well, not until last week, but I could convince her to come with us and get an apartment for all of us.

"I don"t think Mom should be left alone."

Josiah grumbles in frustration but finally gives in and agrees to wait until I'm ready. After getting dressed and making breakfast, I fill Josiah in on what's been going on since he was arrested. I even tell him about the "Save Sadie" campaign from Seb and the gang ever since my last beating. I tell Josiah about the essay scholarship for a full ride to college. Josiah is surprisingly cool with the whole idea, and he said he'll move to the city with me.

I fill his plate with scrambled eggs, sausage links, and toast. Josiah takes a bite of his eggs and rinses them down with a glass of orange juice. Clearing his throat, he says, "How's Sophie?"

"We can—"

"I"m home, Josiah," Mom"s voice interrupts as she slams the door behind her.

"Sadie, why aren"t you at school?" She pauses when she sees me and hangs up her keys and purse by the front door.

"I wasn"t feeling so good," I lie, looking away from her as I start to clean up the mess I made.

"You don"t look sick to me," she deadpans.

"Yeah, well, I have my period." Josiah coughs like he"s choking on his sausage.

I chuckle.

"How was work, Mom?" Josiah saves me when he intercepts Mom"s line of questioning.

Mom ignores Josiah. "Well, you don"t look sick to me, so you need to get ready for school." She says it as if I"m an inconvenience to her by spending time with Josiah. She takes her shoes off and walks over to

Josiah, placing a kiss on his cheek and wrapping his face in her hands. "Mijo, so happy you are home. You didn"t deserve what happened to you."

Without looking at her, I know she's already blaming me for taking her son away. I don't get it. One day she was a loving mother, and the second, she looked at me with eyes full of hate and regret. Looking over my shoulder, I glance over at Mom, and yep, I was right. But, on the other hand, Josiah looks pissed off.

Mom sighs as she sits at the table next to Josiah, patting his forearm. She stares at him with adoration and compassion, the way a mother should look at her child. But all I get is a cold, sneering look—as if she"s disgusted with me for sharing the same space with her and Josiah. It's almost as if the last few months meant nothing to her.

"Sadie, get dressed and go to school. The last thing he needs is to get mixed up in whatever trouble you got yourself into."

"Enough, Mom!" Josiah slams his hand on the table. "Can"t you for once leave Sadie alone, for fuck"s sake?" he yells.

"This is my house, and you will show me respect."

"Yeah, well, I don"t live here." He stands up with his plate and glass in his hands. "And you need to stop blaming Sade for what happened. It"s not her fault. I was trying to protect her. Unlike you, her own mother who can"t even do right by her."

It happens so fast, neither of us sees it coming. Mom's hand connects to Josiah"s face. He slowly turns to face her.

His muscles along his jaw clench, eyes full of hatred, and his shoulders pull back. Mom starts to raise her hand for a second blow, but he grabs her wrist and looks into her eyes with a death stare. "You won"t put your fucking hands on me again." Once he sees she's gotten the message loud and clear, he releases her and steps back.

Mom stares at him in disbelief but doesn"t flinch when he holds onto her wrist, as if she is not afraid of him or what he may do. I don"t want to be on the receiving end of his anger. It almost feels like being locked up ignited his rage, and a bunch of fearless crap has busted out.

He walks over to the sink without looking at her. "Sade is moving out with me. I won"t have her staying here any longer. She deserves to live a normal life, like a normal fucking teenager." There"s not an ounce of compassion in his tone. Only malice.

I just stand against the counter, waiting for Mom to lose her shit. Mom"s eyes go wide, bouncing between me and Josiah when she says, "W-what do you mean, she"s moving out?" She turns to face me, waiting for me to contradict him. Her fear turns to anger when she realizes I wouldn"t give her what she wants. She's scared to be left alone.

"She is only seventeen years old! She is NOT moving out with you or anyone else." She yelling as her Spanish accent deepens while pointing her finger at Josiah. "Yo soy la madre, and I know what is best for her. Not you."

You know Mom's pissed when her Spanglish comes out.

"Then fucking act like a mother!" Josiah yells back.

"Josiah," I calmly warn, knowing how far he can take this.

"Cálmate or te calmaré ." She takes a threatening step closer to Josiah. You"d think with Mom being short and Josiah 6"1, she would back down, but nope. Not this version of Mom.

"I don"t understand where all this newfound attitude or strength comes from, Mom, but where was it when we needed it? Huh?" He slowly walks toward her. "The first-time dad beat shit out of you. Where was it then? Or when he put Sade in the fucking hospital because he beat her so bad, and she couldn't walk for days and had to piss in a fucking plastic bag?" He points in my direction. "Where was your fight then? Huh, Mom?" His body shakes with rage, and his voice roars with hate and resentment.

"You are the mother, and you are supposed to protect your children. Not let them get beaten by a drunken useless piece of shit. Do you know what it was like for us as kids just waiting for him to take us out? Wondering when you were going to stand up to him once and for all and actually put your children first?"

Josiah"s voice is quiet now as he pours his heart and soul out to our mother. All the pain he buried within himself finally reaches the surface. I never knew how this affected him because he never talked about his feelings. He was always worried about being strong for Mom and me.

Who was being strong for him?

I reach out and place my hand on his arm, letting him know that I am here beside him—that he's not alone. He slowly turns to face me as a tear slides down from his eyes.

My heart breaks into a million pieces for him. As I stare at his face full of suffering, I get a small glimpse of the young boy and remember the brother who wanted to be my He-Man to save me from our own Skeletor.

"I will never forgive myself for what happened to you both." Mom finally speaks up in a trembling voice. Her eyes are glazed over with tears when I look up and I watch them fall effortlessly. "No matter what I say, you will never understand why I can"t fight against your father. He is not capable of loving anyone. I learned the hard way the day I stood up to him." She wipes away the flowing tears and walks toward us.

Mom stands in front of us, so she has a good view of her two broken children. I"ve never noticed before, but the bags underneath her eyes are darker, and her skin appears to be aging with a formation of wrinkles surrounding her eyes, forehead, and mouth. She"s exhausted, not just from working nights, but from living to fight another day.

"I don"t expect you to forgive me, but—" She covers her face with her hands as she sobs quietly. Part of me wants to forgive her, but how can I? I don"t have the energy to try to understand what she"s going through when all she has done is turn her back on me. The day Dad put me in the hospital, she stood by and did nothing as he pounded his fists into my little body.

"No matter what happens, I will always love you with all my heart. Con todo mi corazón, and I will die first if that keeps you safe." She cups Josiah"s cheek with one hand and my cheek with the other. Her face is what I can only describe as loving and caring. I haven"t seen her look at us this way since we went to the apple orchard.

God, that was such a long time ago.

Whenever Mom would sing "Gracias a la Vida"by Mercedes Sosa, I knew she was having a good day. I remember watching in awe, hearing her sing the lyrics while she folded the laundry, cleaned the house, and cooked. Those were the moments that reminded me how much of a loving mother she once was. She said God gave her two beautiful children that kept her strong, gave her a reason to live, and gave her strength to survive.

Now, she gives us a loving smile and turns to walk away. Mom stops underneath the archway that separates the kitchen and the living room.

She angles her head slightly, enough for us to see the side of her face as she looks downward. "You will never raise your voice to me again. And Sadie is not moving out of my home." She pauses, expecting us to disobey her, but Josiah and I stay silent, patiently waiting for her next move, but it never comes.