Chapter 9
1029 Words
Not peaceful. The kind of quiet that buzzes behind your ears. That wraps around your chest like
Kitchen. Empty.
Between want and restraint. The way he said nothing. The way he always said nothing.
Why am I never enough for anyone to stay?
The house felt colder than usual.
Upstairs. Her bed? Still made. The sheets untouched. The pillow fluffed.
"Tara?" I called, shrugging off my coat.
Phone. Call. Ring. Voicemail.
Feet moved on their own.
By the time I stepped through the front door, my heart was a weight dragging down everything.
Nothing.
Again. Still voicemail.
My mind? A whirlwind. Faces. Words. The look in Aaron’s eyes that hovered somewhere.
Tears burned but didn’t fall. Not yet. Not here.
Shoes? Not by the door.
"Tara, where are you? Please, just call me back."
"Tara?"
Cold, despite the warmth in the air. My throat kept tightening, loosening, tightening again. My
words I needed were never there.
A too-tight blanket. That makes you feel more alone than actual silence ever could.
My heels hit the pavement in a rhythm that should’ve felt grounding but didn’t. My hands were—
My stomach dropped.
I texted her. Once. Then again. Then again.
I sat on her bed and stared at the phone like I could will it to light up.
And then she sank to her knees.
I rushed down the stairs.
She couldn’t talk. Just cried. The kind of crying that comes from somewhere too deep for words.
The sob that left her chest stripped the breath from mine.
She collapsed into my arms, shaking, gasping.
The silence was deafening.
I didn’t say anything.
An hour. Then another.
Her hands clutched at my shirt like she was trying to anchor herself to something. Anything.
Just held her. Let her soak my clothes. Let her shake and collapse and unravel.
We sat for a long time. Her eyes glazed, staring at the floor.
The door creaked.
She didn’t speak.
I was beside her before I even realized.
The kind that leaves your throat raw and your body aching.
By the third, I was pacing. Ready to scream. About to call the police—
She stood there. Disheveled. Pale. Her eyes swollen. Her shoulders slumped. Like all the life
had been drained from her in one night.
A barrier from the rest of the world.
"His name’s Darren."
I didn’t move.
"At first, he was everything. Gentle. Kind. Patient. The kind of man who made you feel lucky to—
Then it started. The comments. The way he’d twist things. Make me doubt myself. The first
time he hit me, he cried more than I did. Told me it would never happen again."
"He made me feel small. Not all at once. Slowly. Until I stopped recognizing myself."
Her hand trembled.
"I didn’t tell you because I thought you wouldn’t care. Because he said you wouldn’t.
Notice what was happening around you. That you abandoned the only person who truly loved
you—so of course, you’d abandon me too."
Everything inside me cracked.
"It did. Again. And again. And every time, I believed the apologies. The promises. The ‘I didn’t
mean it.’ Because I wanted to believe I mattered that much to someone. Even if it hurt."
"He said that?"
I closed my eyes. My jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
She swallowed.
"Until tonight. He grabbed me. Threw me. And for the first time, I thought—if I stayed, he’d kill
me. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow. But eventually."
She exhaled, her breath hitching.
"And I believed him."
She looked up at me. Eyes heavy. Voice broken.
She looked down at her hands.
I looked at her then, unable to hold back.
She nodded. "He said you were too busy with your perfect mess of a life. That you didn’t even—"
The silence after that was the loudest thing I’d ever heard.
I texted Layla.
She replied almost instantly.
I reached for her.
How had I missed it?
Because guilt has a way of crawling under your skin and making a home of your bones.
How had I been so consumed by my own pain that I didn’t see hers?
Because sometimes, love looks like just not letting someone fall apart alone.
My heart ached in places I didn’t know existed.
When she finally slept, curled up in my bed like a wounded animal, I sat beside her.
And I hated myself for it.
Tara was still asleep, her face calmer than it had been in weeks.
Because I didn’t know what else to do.
Hey. I won’t make it to prep today. Maybe dinner. Family stuff.
---
I failed her.
Morning came in shades of grey.
And that night, I let it consume me.
Every laugh. Every silent dinner. Every time she said she was "fine."
I cried. Quietly. Bitterly.
Held her again. Held her tighter.
I understand. Just take care of her.
We ate breakfast in silence. Her appetite was small. Mine, nonexistent.
I watched her hold the pen with trembling fingers as she wrote out the statement.
Watched as she paused before each word.
Photos were taken. Checks scheduled.
I texted Layla.
Our last name meant something. Our uncle in the DPP’s office made sure of that.
And then it was done.
Tara leaned into me as we walked out of the station. Not because she was tired. But because
she needed the contact.
"You okay?" I asked.
She turned. Her eyes steadier. Clearer.
"I want to go."
"Go where?"
"The fundraiser. I need to remind myself I’m still me. I want to wear something nice. Smile. Even
if it’s fake."
Later that evening, I caught her standing by the mirror, brushing her hair with careful strokes.
That night, as we dressed, I watched her paint on a soft pink lipstick and clip in gold earrings.
She wants to come.
Tell her she’s a goddess. We’ll save her a seat.
I stared. Then nodded.
And for the first time in a long time, I saw her.
Not whole.
Just trying.
Two sisters.
And together, we walked out the door.
Not broken.
But healing.
- Writer
