TW: depressive themes, SA, implied domestic abuse, alcohol

I was a corpse beneath the shackles of my blanket, staring dead-eyed at the cracking ceiling. I knew I should fall asleep, soothe the part of my brain aching for its sweet escape. But I didn’t. It used to be a masochistic form of self-punishment - aching for rest, I would force myself to stay up until the early hours. Now, I wasn’t even sure if I remembered how to sleep.

My tired eyes slid from the ceiling to the bed next to me. My sister lay on the bed, her golden hair dusk-colored beneath the moonlight. Her eyes fluttered slightly , and then jolted open. Her black eyes stared straight at me.

“You’re awake?” she whispered. Her voice wasn’t groggy at all.

“So are you.” I replied.

She sighed. A long, drawn-out sound.

“It’s too quiet at night,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “It…doesn’t feel right.”

We both lapsed into silence, remembering the chaos and rage that used to fill our house with noise even at night. Now, our mother drifted in and out of rooms, a ghost. Me and Sam, echoes of ourselves.

“But,” I started, hesitating. “Doesn’t it feel…better, like this?”

“Better?” Sam asked, looking at me.

“Dad, he used to… it was worse back then, wasn’t it? Before he died?” I was almost pleading with her, guiltily.

“He was our dad.” Sam replied.

She was silent for a beat. My heart swelled in my chest, strangling me.

“But,” she exhaled. “It is better.”

Suddenly, I could breathe again. This meant something, this had to.

“Do you know…” Sam looked away from me. “He used to come during the night. Sometimes, when he was really drunk. He used to… tell me how much he loved me. How much he cared about me. How proud he was that I was his daughter.”

Sam laughed then, an empty sound. A dark pit formed in my stomach.

“I was so stupid. I remember how his praises filled me, made me think I was worth something… and while he said all of that, while he called me his lovely child… he would touch me.”

A visceral feeling seized me then.

“It was my fault, Sam.” I stared straight into her hopeless eyes. That feeling, a mix of primal rage and love - it was the same thing I felt when I watched him choke on his bile, watched the tears fall from his eyes as he gurgled and clawed at his throat. “I could’ve helped him. I didn’t.”

Sam was still staring at me. She didn’t look sad, or relieved, or surprised.

Her eyes slid back to the ceiling, devoid of life. I watched her desperately, felt the secret leave me like a vital organ being removed. I wanted her to say anything, everything; I wanted her to comfort me just as much as I wanted her disgust.

“Go back to sleep, Toni.” was all she said.