I couldn’t hear exactly what was going down, but the heat and anger were as clear as a bell.

I closed the door again and made my way back to the bed. The fighting was taking me back, making me want to be small. I was at the Burathons’ house a lot as a kid. They were very kind to let me come over as much as I did.

I never invited Teddi to my house, and we ignored how weird that was. She had a pool. She had all the kids over all the time. Her parents seemed to love kids. They seamlessly enveloped me into their family vacations.

My house was not the same as theirs. My parents fought. They fought each other. They fought us kids. It wasn’t until I had stayed with the Burathons for a week that I knew adults didn’t have to fight all the time. Picking what was for dinner wasn’t a federal case. No one threw a vase at anyone else’s head.

I took a deep breath as the panic started to claw at my chest. It was like this for me. This way I handled the feelings, feeling like they were zooming out of control. That was my job at my house. Keep my sister, Raven, out of the parents’ way. If they roped you into the fight, you were bound to become part of the battle. You’d have to listen to lectures and shouting, sometimes the same topic over and over again.

Sometimes when I was at the Burathons’ house, I felt guilty that I was leaving Raven to fend for herself. She was so much younger that Mom would often be caring for her. Until Mom set her down one day and left, never coming back. The daycare Dad invested in was a priority for him afterwards. It was a considerable cost, but Raven really enjoyed it. She had a bunch of friends. I’d feel guilty trying to get her out early, because I'd be bringing her back to the house that was not relaxing at all. So, my sister was there more than she was with us.

You’ve got to handle your stuff however it makes sense. The shouts of Endgame and Austin brought me back. A place I never wanted to be. Never wanted to have to live in twenty-four seven ever again. Don’t get me wrong. I love my family, but just having to spend time with them was exhausting. Not relaxing. As we’ve grown, we all have our peculiar ways of interacting. Because it wasn’t healthy—all the fighting that used to happen before Mom left.

I heard smacking sounds followed by a groan. A door slammed again, and before I was ready, Austin stormed back into the room.

Tears rimmed his eyes. He had a very clear imprint of a hand on his cheek.