I didn’t remember much that day, except for when I came home, my stepdad lay muddy in drink in the living room. I scowled. It was his fault my mum was in debt. I tiptoed upstairs, flung my bag on my mattress and sighed. Mum wasn’t home, she was working late tonight.

I lay on the bed, deep in thought, until I heard clumsy footsteps on the stairs.

I jolted up and waited. He never came upstairs, there was nothing that belonged to him upstairs. He had only come to see me.

“Hey Rylee.” His words were slurred.

I mumbled my reply. I turned my head from him. I knew that you were never safe with a man like him.

He sat on the bed, and my eye twitched.

“What’s up?” I asked, a hint of disgust in my voice.

My mind suddenly went blank. I jumped off the bed and called to Amara. I knew it was my job to keep her safe, but I had to go to high school. Every day she was stuck inside, stuck around our stepdad.

I found her in her room, playing with paper dolls, her back away from me. I knelt down next to her. Her posture was in an unusual position.

She hid her hands behind her face. “Amara, what happened? Did he hurt you?”

She made a weird sound and I pulled her hands away from her face.

I gasped when I saw the purple bruise above her left eye. “What happened?”

Amara stared crying. “He threw it at me.”

“What? What did he throw at you?”

“A bottle.” She closed her eyes and turned away for me. “He came in all drunk and just threw it at me. Don’t know why.” She stoped talking and scrunched up in a ball. “Hang in there.” I kissed her head and left the room.

I didn’t think after that. I picked the biggest book off the shelf and gripped it tight. I entered my room and flung it at the man. “You stupid, drunk man!”

The book hit his face. For a moment, he stared at me, dazed, but then, the next moment, he had grabbed my leg. He grunted and I kicked furiously. I grabbed the book and smacked it in his face. Again I threw the book down on him. He let go of his grip for a second and I staggered away.

I thought about all the times he punched me or spat in my face when my mum wasn’t looking. Every time I had done nothing.

I thought of my sister, who had severe Autism, who was abused at school so much that we had to stop her from going. She had so many so many seizures but was still a good kid. She didn’t deserve any of it.

I turned back at the man and smacked the book on his head as hard as I could.

He fell over backwards, eyes rolling the back of his head. I stepped back, and in an instant, regretted my decision instantly.

I turned and fled.

Amara had a heavy seizure an hour later. Nothing could break her from the link. I had tried pinching her hard, calling, singing, crying, and even screaming, just to get her to wake up.

The shaking stopped minutes after I had given up. Her eyes rolled back to and I hugged her until mum came home. She was alive and well, but she had confessed to have watched the fight roll out and when it ended, had run back into her room. Before the seizure, she had been in pain. Pain no one could understand.

But I stared out the window while I held her. And I thanked God. All was well. For now at least.