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Michael loved his sister.
Of course he did. You’re supposed to love your siblings. You’re supposed to get along with them. There are certain ways to feel about your siblings, and Michael checked all of the boxes.
But he did not just love her because he was obligated to.
Michael loved his sister for many reasons, yes, but there was one primary reason that stood out above the rest. And it was merely because the two of them had a connection that neither had had with Evan or with Father.
Their mother had passed away when Michael was only eleven, automatically tasking him with the responsibility of taking care of his infant sister, because even as an eleven-year-old, he knew their father would not do it.
That was fine by Michael. If his mother could do it, then so could he.
Of course, their father was there to do the bare minimum, just as he had done with Evan, and with Michael himself. But because their mother was no longer present to do everything else, Michael filled in the cracks.
He was not perfect by any means, no, but he learned as he went along. He could change a diaper, he knew how to cook already, and he was good at keeping children entertained.
Elizabeth learned how to brush her teeth, how to read, write, solve equations, and ride a bike (with training wheels, of course,) all with Michael’s guidance. He was there for her when she was taking her first steps, when she was saying her first word (which just so happened to be mama, much to Michael’s dismay.) All of these moments had occurred because of Michael, and not their father. There was a certain pride that Michael soared with, knowing that he taught her all of this, and not him. But at the same time, deep within that pride, there was melancholy. There was the knowledge that Elizabeth Afton was going to grow up without a mother, and on top of that, without a father. A good father, anyway.
Michael hoped he would make for a good enough replacement.
“Mike?” Elizabeth asked one night, after he had finished reading the story they’d been on for about a week, now.
“What?”
“Why doesn’t Daddy read to me? Does he read to Evan?”
Michael closed the book and set it gently on the bedside table. “Who cares?” he asked. “We don’t need him. We’ve got each other.”
“Does Daddy love me, Mike?”
For a few seconds, Michael said nothing. The only sound that could be heard throughout the room was the breathing of the two of them. Then, very quietly, Michael answered, “Yes.”
It was a lie. Michael knew he was lying right through his teeth, but he didn’t have the heart to tell her the truth. He couldn’t tell her that if their father truly loved her the same way he loved Evan, then Michael would have no place in her life at all.
Elizabeth opened her mouth to say something more, but Michael shushed her and whispered, “Okay, go to bed now. Goodnight.”
She frowned. Michael tucked her in, shut off the lamp.
His heart ached as he shut the door behind him.
Michael hated getting beat by his father. This was something he’d learned to accept over the years, but it was something he resented anyway. It was something he hated severely.
But there was one thing he hated infinitely more than that.
And that was his siblings getting beat by their father.
Michael could not stand it. He would not stand it. He would sacrifice himself until he died, if he could. He did a good job, for the most part, taking their beatings, but there were times where his vigilance lacked. There were times where he was not quick enough, not persuasive enough.
Michael had been in his room, flipping through a comic book he had received for Christmas several years back. He had read it hundreds of times by now, but he did not have much variety.
He was eternally bored, half lidded eyes gazing at the same pictures, over and over again. That was, until his sister came bustling into his room, sobbing and bleeding. She was bleeding. Alarmed, Michael sat upward, extending his arms for her to run into.
“Lizzie— what the hell happened to you? Where are you bleeding? Oh, God—”
A steady stream of blood was flowing out of her nose, staining her shirt, and her hands, which were also covered in blood in a fruitless attempt to staunch the bleeding.
“Daddy!” she cried, “it was Daddy! He— he hit me! Mike, where were you?”
Michael’s stomach dropped. He suddenly began to feel very, very cold. He had not been there. It was as simple as that. He had not been there. But here his sister was, sobbing into him, staining his shirt with blood and tears. His breathing quickened, his eyes stinging. He had not been there.
“I’m. . .” he muttered. “I’m sorry, Liz. . . I didn’t— I didn’t know. . . Otherwise, I would’ve. . . Here, you need a tissue.” He could not find a tissue, but instead gave her one of his old shirts to use instead. “Here, just. . . Just lay your head back, okay? We can deal with the rest once it stops. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”
His fist clenched, Michael exited his bedroom. He found his father in the kitchen, tinkering with something or another.
He cleared his throat. His father turned toward him, his silver eyes piercing.
“You want to tell me why Elizabeth came crying into my room?” he asked through gritted teeth. He would not back down now, not after all of this.
William exhaled a laugh. “Not particularly,” he replied easily. “It’s none of your business, really. You should just be grateful it wasn’t you. ”
“I thought we agreed!” Michael cried. “You’re not supposed to hit them! You’re supposed to hit me instead!”
“ I don’t recall agreeing to that. Michael, honestly, you need to stop playing hero. You’re no hero. What will happen when you’re no longer here to protect them? What will they do without you? They need to learn to be resilient. Like you, my boy. . . That’s why I do this to you. Because I love you. I love all of you.”
Michael gazed into his father’s eyes, silently pleading with him, falling for his words, hard exterior melting away under his father’s watchful eye.
“But. . . Why her? Why couldn’t you have come to me? I would have taken it. You know I always do. She’s— she’s only four, Father. . . She doesn’t deserve this.”
“Perhaps not. But life is not fair. To any of us. That is something you need to know, Michael.”
Michael stared at the floor. “Can you at least come to me next time? I don’t want you to hurt her. Not anymore. Please. I can take it. She can’t.”
Silence. Then: “I’ll think about it. Now run along. I don’t want to see your face until dinner.”
And so Michael did. And the next time William beat him, he knew it was on Elizabeth’s behalf, and for this, he did not complain. He took the beating, as he always did, and once his father grew tired, he retired to his bedroom, where his sister was waiting for him with a blissfully ignorant smile.