Your Protector

                                    || Y O U     P R O T E C T    H E R ||

{The following takes place, in an alternate universe with strongly suggestive and offensive themes}

                                                                ::  16 Years Ago ::


“Yes daddy?”

Would you like to come meet your baby sister?

Excited, the two -almost three year old- hopped off the chair, leaving the neighbor lady’s side, she smelled of cigarettes and alcohol–Constance was her name but he didn’t care for her much. The little boy’s shoes lit up like a race car, they were his fast shoes with checkered flags on the velcro everything was simple as he scurried beside his father, he was in a green gown, and a hat to match, his father was a giant and he had to jump to reach for his hand.

Tate had big brown eyes full of wonder and he held onto his fathers hand as Benjamin Harmon directed his son to the hospital room where his wife and his new daughter was born, Vivian was huddled in her blankets, her messy golden red hair tied back, exhaustion tore her face but she cradled that pink bundle close. Ben picked up Tate and placed him on the foot of the bed, at first the small boy was shy and scared, looking up for approval, guidance anything reassuring, Ben just brushed his fingers through the toddlers hair and over the cut on his cheek and smiles.

The young boy crawls over closer to his beaming mother who shows him the small little babe, she was beautiful and Tate smiles baring all of his teeth.

“Whats her name mommy?”


You’re going to protect her, Tate, you’re going to be a big strong man and protect her, with everything you’ve got. Understand?

                                                                         Protect her, Tate.
                                                                             Protect her.

>>         Isn’t that what he’s been doing since the start? Since his parents had told him that his mother wasn’t eating too much cake like he asked but that she was going to have a baby, give him a brother or a sister to play with. Innocence at its finest really, but those days of simplicity, vulnerability, naive innocence were lost and done with.

Puberty had happened and they’d drifted, he doesn’t remember much of the before, only the last few years did the grunge filled boy recall much, eighteen and full of hate for the world, for people, for this place. Black t-shirts over pale skin, marked and traced with the tip of a blade, jeans to cover his long hairy legs, boxers sticking out like every day, messy long ruffled tangled knotted, shaggy hair that went past his ears, dark tired eyes with bags the size of the moon beneath each eye. Marks from fighting, marks from exploding in anger, marks of living like a teenager bruised his skin.

Eighteen and he’s kept his promise, he’s kept her safe, he’s protected her always, his baby sister. His parents ball of sunshine, the favorite, the darling baby girl, she didn’t have to work for everything while he got nothing–He wasn’t filled with resentment the farthest thing from he loved his little sister more than he could express. He was eighteen with a beat up old car and a couple of friends, he’s been in jail twice and has a fake ID, a metal box hidden in his messy poster covered room with all sorts of drugs. Sun paled green walls and a small empty rodent home from when his hamster was alive, a giant stereo system that he was hooking his phone up to, to play his music, loud angry, with great guitar. To keep his family out of his room and to keep his thoughts perverse sickening morning thoughts in his mind, and his hand down under the covers to give himself his own personal wake up call.

                           Keep that door locked, and keep all outside of the door locked out in their world, while he remains safely in his, moaning under the music’s beat as he pumps swiftly as his wakening.