Plates crash against the wall downstairs as Poppy snuggles deeper beneath my arms, tucking her face against my forearm. Yelling, screaming, more plates smashing. I hate it here. Poppy deserves better, and I want to give it to her. I will one day. I’m only seventeen right now, but I swear I will drag her out of this family if it’s the last thing I do. Out of every family.

Long silence stretches out and I let my hands fall from Poppy’s ears.

“Wait here.” I throw my blanket off me just as Poppy’s hand comes to mine.

“No, Lenny, I don’t want you to go down there. We just have to wait. Remember what happened last time?”

“Yeah,” I say, shoving on my shoes and grabbing the Glock that’s tucked beneath the mattress of my bed. Stole it from him because I knew I’d need it one day. “I stopped it. Just stay here.”

I don’t give Poppy enough time to answer because I’m heading out my bedroom door, closing it gently behind me. Poppy knows what needs to be done for the most part. She isn’t stupid. The house is too silent. Even as I pass the family portraits hanging on the walls, the silence grows. The perfect family. I don’t recognize them. A father, mother, and a perfect doting son. Fuck that and him, whoever he is.

I hit the high archway that leads into the lounge room when I stop my movement. The flames from the fire lick up the cobblestone fireplace, crackling among the embers, and there he stands, holding the marble ornament he bought her for their twentieth anniversary. He’s tall, well over six-foot-five, and has a body fat index below fifteen. He’s a beast. Trains in the gym every day and works the rest of the hours he isn’t training. I don’t know him much, to be fair. But from what I see, he isn’t someone who you physically want to come toe-to-toe with.

He falls back onto the occasional chair that’s tucked beside the fireplace, dropping the heavy marble ornament onto the carpet. The lounge room is adjacent to the dining room, but I can’t see over the table. I don’t have to, though, because I know. I know he has finally done it, and honestly, thank fuck, because I’m over it.

I clock the trigger on the gun and he jolts up, turning over his shoulder to look directly at me. His eyes are the same as mine in color, and I hate it.

I round the kitchen chair, gun still raised and on him as I shuffle further in. Seeing her lifeless body lying in a puddle of blood doesn’t shock me as much as it would have others.