I was a Mistake

I'm Done Being Afraid

"You don't look great," Joseph said, walking into the kitchen and taking a seat beside me. I sat staring at an untouched bowl of cereal. "And if you don't start eating, I'll tell Mom."

"Tattletale," I smiled and nudged him with my elbow, ignoring his remark about my appearance.

"Seriously, when's the last time you slept?"

I watched him from the corner of my eye, embarrassed by my answer. "Four nights ago," I admitted.

Every time I tried to close my eyes, my birth mother was there to terrorize me. Memories I had forgotten were brought front and center, scarring my nights with pain and fear. I hated being weak. I hated relying on Noah to take my pain away. He'd be home in less than a day and I didn't want him to see me like this.

"Pumpkin, you need to sleep."

"Easier said than done, brother."

"Well, you could sleep on the couch and when you start fidgeting, I'll wake you up."

I was just tired enough to hope that would work. I nodded as Joseph followed me into the living room. I rested my head on the pillow and spread out on the love seat. Joseph wrapped a blanket around me before going to the couch with a book he'd been reading.

When I woke up, it was dark outside and Joseph was gently shaking my shoulder. "You were whimpering... I didn't want you to be scared."

I had been having a dream about my birth mother but it didn't affect me as I thought it would. It was a horrible memory, but I wasn't shaking and my heart wasn't pounding in my chest. I felt more rested and decided I could sleep the whole night there on the loveseat. I dismissed Joseph with a thank you. He nodded and moved to his room with a glance back to make sure I was okay.

❃❃❃

Gabriella and Gabriel sat on the floor with their new toys, making imitation police sirens and baby wails with their mouths. Momma was on the couch watching a Christmas movie, downing a bottle of eggnog. I was hidden in the bathroom nursing a bleeding cut on my shoulder.

I should have known better than to burn the gravy. It was essential to most of the Christmas dinner, I knew that.

Momma just had to shove me away from the stove with the hand she was cutting potatoes with. I'm sure she didn't mean to cut me like that. I was only six. Six-year-olds didn't get cut with knives by their mommy's.

"Eden, get me another glass of eggnog!" I plastered a sheet of toilet paper to my shoulder, my little fingers pressing at the blood. It hurt to touch it with water so I just covered it with the paper, hoping it would be enough. I put my shirt back over it, as Momma yelled, "Don't make me cuss on Christmas!"

I ran to the kitchen, hopping over the piles of presents my brother and sister got.

Momma said Santa didn't like me this year. Momma said maybe if I could have helped cook a good Christmas dinner, Santa might bring me a small gift. Momma said the burned gravy shot that out the damned window. I understood.

I grabbed Momma's glass and filled it up with eggnog to the very top, just like she liked it. I didn't flinch when I moved my arm. I knew Momma hated flinchers. I wanted Momma happy on Christmas. Christmas was good. I'd be good.

"Didn't you wash your hands! Is that blood on my glass?" my momma screamed. I shook my head. "Are you lying to me now, Eden?" I nodded.

"Go to your room. You can only get out when I need a new drink. Santa and I hate you tonight. If I find blood anywhere it's not supposed to be, you are going to get it."