Ch.2: Fight or Flight

Jay's POV

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Jay, wake up!" A soft voice whispers in my ear.

"No. Five more minutes," I grumble.

Something is thrown into my head, a small pebble from what it felt like. "Hey! Mari, what are you... It's not even morning yet!" I protest.

Mari, my sister, stares down from where I lie. I can just make out her sweet, soft brown eyes in the darkness.

"I had a bad dream," she whimpers.

"Oh," I say, softer this time. I smile a little. "Stay close, I'll fight the bad dreams off."

"With what?"

"Psh, with my epic kung fu skills, obviously. C'mere."

Mari giggles at this. I shift back in the thin blanket that covers me to leave space for her. She bundles up her jacket to use as a pillow. Snuggling into the blanket, I can feel her muscles relax. We both drift off into sleep.

I have nightmares again, fulfilling the continuous streak I've been receiving for the past week.

This time I'm in my ten year old body, feeling as fragile and small as ever when my dad arrives stumbling through the doorway. Marigold whimpers, and I attempt to reassure her by squeezing her hand.

"Hide under my bed, okay? Don't come out unless I tell you to," I whisper.

"He's going to hurt you!" She cries out, much too loud.

"Shhh... it'll be fine. Here, I have a game. You be the princess trapped in a tower. I'll be the brave knight that comes and saves the day," I explain hastily. The five year old girl hesitates, but eventually does as I say. She doesn't lighten up at all when I mention a game, knowing that's there's nothing fun nor carefree about this situation.

My goal right now is to survive, I'm the only thing Mari has left.

"Jay! GET DOWN HERE!" Screams my drunken father. I shiver. I want to hide with Mari, but I know that he'll come looking for us if I do. After taking a deep breath, I creep down the stairs.

"Hello, father," I squeak, my voice barely audible.

"Speak up, boy," he growls. I flinch when two massive hands clamp down on my shoulders. The drunk kneels down to my height, giving me the ugliest smile I've ever seen. His breath suffocates me with the vile stench of liquor and puke.

"Y- your eyes... Your mother had those eyes. Such beautiful eyes."

I stare back into his beady black eyes and try to find the man I once knew in them. But ever since mom died, he vanished. I stand there frozen in his grasp.

My father suddenly let's go of me and wanders off to the kitchen. Refusing to let the tears spill from my eyes, I clench my fists and jaw and wait for what is to come. I can't be relieved just yet, not until he passes out.

There's a deafening shatter heard, no doubt one of his bottles of liquor. When I hear him yell my name, I scramble to the kitchen as fast as I can without slipping on the wooden floors in my socks.

"Clean it up!" Dad barks.

"Yes sir!" I yelp, frantically grabbing the trash can and kneeling down. I notice the jagged shard of glass in his hand and realize that this really might be the night where I die.

No, I can't. I refuse to accept that. Marigold needs me, I think.

My hands are shaking so bad that it's impossible to pick up the fragments of glass carefully. My hands are bloody and cut deeply in various areas.

I won't settle for this life anymore.

I hide a shard under my sleeve. At least now I have a slim chance of surviving.

"Where is Marigold?" My father asks gruffly.

"I- I dunno," I stammer.

His crushing grip lands itself on my arm. "Don't play dumb! Tell me where she is!"

"NO!"

He swings, his makeshift weapon slicing through the skin just below my eye. At first I cry out in agony and terror, but it gradually turns into some sort of high pitched battle cry.

No more. No more. NO MORE.

I slip out my weapon, cutting at his wrist to the point where I reach bone. The evil man doubles over in pain, screaming as if I just chopped off his leg. He's too drunk and distracted to see that I've bolted upstairs.

"Mari, we're leaving!" I shout.

"Where will we go?" She asks. She's not too worried about my bloody face. The sight has grown accustom to her ever since she was a newborn.

"No time to talk. Just put on your shoes and run!"

We don't even have time to pack a little. At least, I don't want to take the chance if we do or not.

We stumble into the darkness of the night and never return to that house again. We've lived on the streets ever since.

I wake up with a jolt. My forehead is streaked with sweat and I'm gasping for air. Panic stabs at my chest when I realize that Mary isn't curled up at my side anymore.

"Mari?" I croak. "MARI!" I shout her name. My hands tremble. Did someone take her in the night? No, that's impossible. Surely I would've woken up. Just as I'm about to scream her name again, she pops out of the shadows, carrying a basket full of... holy crap, is that food?!

"Jay! Since you were asleep, I thought I would go to the marketplace myself to search for food. This old lady seemed to feel bad for me and gave me all of this!" She chirps proudly.

No doubt Mari would be pitied on. With her clothes in rags and her body nothing but a bag of bones, it's a pretty sad sight. She was sick a while back and couldn't keep any food down. We didn't even have that much food to begin with. Naturally, she lost a ton of weight. Me, on the other hand, just looks like a dirty street brat that might pick your pockets at any moment.

"I told you not to go out on your own. Do you know how dangerous that was!?" I shout. I can't help but hold her in a tight hug. Shame fills my chest. How could I have been so unaware to where she could just wander off? I could've lost her, and she's the only thing I have left.

"I'm not a baby, Jay! I can help you!" Mari protests.

I chuckle and ruffle her tangled hair. "You'll always be my baby sister."

I let the matter go and we dig into our feast of cheese, freshly baked bread, and best of all, tangy, sweet strawberries. They used to be my favorite, before my mother died. I could've eaten my weight in them. It's hard to imagine the luxuries I used to have. Now a hot shower is just a fantasy. The real struggle has been raising Mari this whole time by myself. Being a 10 year old kid and surviving on the treacherous streets that I call home, you could say I did a pretty good job. Sometimes I wonder if it would've been best to drop off Mari at a foster home. She would get three meals a day, parents, a nice, warm bed and clean clothes. But the selfish part of me would never be able to do it. She's the only thing in this world that I've ever loved. If I let that go, I don't have a purpose to live anymore.

"Eat slowly," I order, my voice muffled by the food crammed in my mouth. I'm having trouble following my own command.

"Why?" Mari pouts.

"Because you'll get sick and throw it all up."

Her eyes widen. "And that would be bad."

"Yes, very bad."