Chapter Four: Philip
865 Words
"Run, Jack, please run," Philip Thorne urged his brother. Their father's footsteps grew increasingly louder and with them, Philip's panic grew. He couldn't let his father hurt Jack.
Jack scrambled from the bed, staring at him with young, terrified eyes. "Out of the window," Philip said, throwing it open and beckoning frantically. He helped Jack climb out, saying to him, "You know what to do. Stay hidden and don't come back until you're sure he's gone."
The ten-year-old disappeared into the dark and Philip slammed the window shut as the door opened, his father stomping in angrily. Philip swallowed, taking a deep breath, and inched away from the window as Mr Thorne glared and growled, lurching towards him. In his hand, he clutched a bottle and took a long drink from it.
"I lost a game tonight," he told Philip. "Lost money. You'll have to work overtime, you incompetent bastard, you understand?"
Philip nodded jerkily, chest tightening at his words. Work overtime! He already worked himself to utter exhaustion—but it was never enough, his hard work was never enough, he was never enough.
But as always, he stared at the floor and said, "Yes, sir."
"Tell me, Philip," Mr Thorne said almost kindly, "how much money did you get this month?"
"None, sir," Philip stammered, heart thundering.
"And why is that?"
"The—the debt, sir."
"Have you been lacking?"
Philip swallowed again, his throat dry. Had he? He had passed out from exhaustion, gotten beat up, worked at the Academy of Imfundo from dawn to near midnight, gotten maybe an hour of sleep at night...
"Yes," Philip said quietly. "I have been lacking."
He tried to pretend that his father's cruel smile didn't hurt."And?"
Philip flushed red with humiliation. "And...I deserve punishment."
Half an hour later saw Philip curled up on the floor, b****y and bruised, wheezing with pain. Mr Thorne had left and Philip knew he was supposed to go and get Jack, make sure he was fine, but Philip didn't think he could stand, much less keep up a mask, and he couldn't scare Jack any more than he already was.
Philip heard a voice calling his name distantly. "Philip? I—I can't get inside."
Taking a deep breath, Philip replied, forcing his voice not to tremble, "I'll be right there, Jackie."
"F—Father's gone, right?" Jack sounded as if he'd been crying.
Philip dragged himself up, gripping the edge of the bed."Yes. He's gone, Jackie. It's okay now."
He staggered to the window and opened it, leaning against the wall. His broken ribs screamed in protest and Philip took a ragged breath. "Jackie? Come on. You can do this." He reached out and felt Jack's hand close around his wrist.
He pulled and cried out breathlessly when his wrist—definitely sprained–was wrenched and agony flared.
Jack let go and asked, his voice small, "Philip?"
Philip gripped his wrist tightly, trying to breathe. "It's okay, Jackie. Come on."
With his good wrist, he tried again and this time, Jack managed to climb inside. Philip pulled him close, hugging him tightly. "You okay?"
He felt Jack nod against his shoulder. As they pulled away, Jack's mouth twisted and he said, "He did it again, didn't he?"
Philip hesitated, then nodded. "I'm sorry, Jackie."
Jack looked down. "I wish Mother was here."
Philip swallowed. Their mother had left when Philip was seven, a year after Jack had been born. Ever since that day, Mr Thorne had been an abusive alcoholic. Mrs Thorne leaving had broken his heart. She was selfish and a coward for leaving them, but Philip couldn't deny the times he lay in his and Jack's bed at night, hand stroking Jack's as he slept, wishing and pleading their mother to come back, for Jack to be safe again.
Maybe then they could be free of debts and he wouldn't have to work himself to exhaustion. Jack wouldn't have to be taken care of by an incompetent brother who couldn't shake off the horrors of what their father did to them and couldn't sleep at night without reliving them. He wouldn't have to hide from his father. Maybe, then, they could be happy.
"Philip...?" Jack asked, and Philip realised he'd been quiet for way too long.
"Yeah?"
"Do you have to go to work tomorrow?"
Philip grimaced. "I'm afraid so, Jackie," he said.
Jack looked down and nodded. "Okay. Can I...can I come with you?"
Philip squeezed Jack's hands. "It's no place for a kid, Jackie. There won't be anyone except adults and I have to work. You'd be bored."
"Where will all the students be?"
"It's their holidays, little brother."
"Don't...don't you get holidays?"
Philip tried for a smile, but his jaw hurt too much. He sighed and said, "No rest for the wicked, Jackie."
Jack frowned. "You're not wicked," he said dubiously, then added after a minute, "Are you okay, Philip?"
Philip avoided his eyes. The answer was no, he wasn't okay. He really wasn't okay; he was tired and hurt and it felt like he'd break any second. But...Jack couldn't know that.
So Philip gave him a nod, and, as always, lied.
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