An Echo in the Wind

Chapter 16

I take short breaths, trying to lessen the pain as much as I can as I walk into my room, clutching the wall so tight my knuckles turn white. 

My entire torso is sore, like I just did an intense workout. 

I hear quiet sobs coming from behind Austin's closed door. I move through the bathroom, flicking on the lights and try the doorknob. It's locked like I told him. 

I knock lightly, "Austin baby? It's me."

Soft footsteps walk to the bathroom door and I hear it unlock before it turns and opens. He sees me and jumps into me, wrapping his tiny arms around my waist. 

I cringe, letting an involuntary grunt out of my mouth. He instantly releases me and looks up with tear stained cheeks. "Mommy hurt you again?"

"Yeah," I say, a few tears pricking my eyes. I cup his cheek in my hand, brushing the tears away with my thumb, "Don't you worry about me though. I'm alright."

"I'll go get the first aid kit," he says procedurally. 

My heart aches. He shouldn't have to know where to find medical supplies to patch up his big sister. He's six. He should be hanging out with friends, with not a care in the world. 

But the world is cruel. It's caused him to grow up too fast. Sometimes, times like this, when one of us are hurt, or Mom's in a mood, he acts so much older than he really is. 

He's seen too much. Experienced too much. It's not fair. I nod sadly, "It should be in the closet by the front door. I don't think we unpacked it yet. Bring it up here. And be careful. Mommy went to her room, but I don't want her to hear you and come back out, okay?"

I look into his eyes seriously, stressing how important it is that he's quiet. He nods in understanding, "I will."

He sneakily makes his way out of the bathroom, tip toeing away from me. When he's gone, I breath out, letting some of my pain go with it. It doesn't really hurt like fire anymore, that usually only happens right at first impact. Now I'm just sore, and I probably will be for a few days. 

I hop up onto the countertop, sitting between both sinks and lean my head against the cool glass. 

The bathroom door opens again and Austin enters, a red box in one hand, and a small bowl of ice and a towel in the other. 

I smile gratefully. He sets it down beside me and says, "I got ice for you."

"Thanks, bud. You're a good kid, you know that?"

He frowns, "Mommy doesn't think so."

I bite my lip sympathetically, "Of course she does, she doesn't know what she's saying. That's what happens when you drink, your thoughts get all scrambled and you don't mean anything you say or do," I assure him. 

In fact, I know that isn't true. Honestly, I think my mother truly does hate Austin. Or envy him. Or something like that. She blames him. She's said it too many times for it to be thoughtless words. 

But Austin doesn't need to know that. I know I said the right thing because he lightens up a little and starts picking through the first aid kit. 

I pull my top off slowly, so that I'm only in a sports bra. I take shallow breaths as I assess the damage. 

Austin gapes at my starting to bruise stomach, "I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

His lip wobbles, "Mommy hurt you because of me."

I shake my head, "No, no. This was my fault. I provoked her."

He doesn't say anything but I can tell he's still blaming himself. He takes out a bottle of peroxide and pours some on a cloth and dabs it over the several cuts trailing my body. There's a few up my arms, and two more on my stomach.