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“Why?”

Because I know what's coming. Because I always know.

“Just… go, Milo.”

My father's chair jerks back abruptly. “No. He's staying here.”

The floor sways beneath my feet. “No,” I say. “He's going to his room.” The words tumble out before I can stop them.

He finally looks at me and in his eyes, there's no surprise, just a satisfied expectation, as if he were just waiting for an excuse to snap.

I quickly crouch down in front of my brother. “Go, firefly,” I whisper. “Now. Please.”

He smiles and obeys, getting up and running toward the stairs.

My father slams his fist on the table. “WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN WHERE YOU ARE?!”

I slowly straighten up, feeling as if I'm too heavy for my own body. “Don't shout, Milo can hear you.”

“You're in my house,” he says, his voice lower, closer. “In my fucking house!” He moves closer, and I back away without realizing it. “Do you think that because people look at you differently outside, it makes a difference?” He smiles, “Here, you’re nothing. Nothing.” Then, almost softly, “You always have been, less than nothing.”

Nothing.

Less than nothing…

I’m too tired for his bullshit, and all I want to do is leave now and never come back. But then I remember what he said. Consequences won’t fall on me, they’ll fall on Milo.

“Without me, you’d be dead,” he adds calmly. “You know that, right?”

I know. I already knew. I hate this man, so much it hurts to look at him.

When he finally turns away, I stay there. For a long time. I can’t hear anything anymore, except my heart pounding too hard. I'm starting to clean up the spilled coffee, then clean up the rest of the kitchen, until my fingers ache, until the door closes and he leaves again, I don't know where.

Until Milo comes downstairs and tells me he's done and I see it's already 2pm, and then I stop cleaning and make him dinner. I look at him, but I'm not there. I nod, I answer, I smile, I laugh, but I don't know what he's talking about.

I hear but I don't understand, I'm... I'm somewhere else. The whole day is a blur.

Without him, I’d be dead…

I repeat it in my head, when I make dinner, when I laugh with Milo during the evening movie, when I put him to bed before my father gets home.

Without him, I’d be dead…

I repeat it to myself when I get in the shower, when I let the scalding water run over my skin, when I slide down the wall until I'm sitting.

Without him, I’d be dead…

I repeat it again and again, even when I take the blade hidden at the back of the drawer and spread my thighs, letting it drag across my skin.

Then, when I see the blood flowing and mixing with the water, I understand.

Because of him, I'm already dead.

He came back the next morning hungover and already angry. The smell of alcohol followed him through the living room before he even opened his mouth.

“They’re coming tonight.”

That was all he said. He didn’t have to elaborate because I already knew. Milo was never here on nights like those. So, I spent the whole day with him at Edna’s. We cooked star cookies and watched the same movie over and over again.