It was just another typical night. Your father’s beating had hurt you both, mentally and physically. You were only three, you didn’t mean to drop that glass. You didn’t understand why ‘daddy’ was always so ‘mean’.

Simon knew all too well why. As your older brother, it felt like a job taking care of you. Your dad didn’t care enough to take care of you properly, that meant that Simon was always left to deal with you. He had changed your nappies, fed you, played with you, put you to sleep, bathed you. He did everything for you, and the only thing he got in reward was just another slap on the face, another bruise on the arm.

The abuse was rough, but he wouldn’t need to deal with that anymore. He was 18 now, he could move out, join the military like he had always dreamt of.

But he also couldn’t help but worry for you, wondering what your life would be like if he was gone off fighting in the military. You were a small and defenceless baby, you couldn’t protect yourself from your father’s blows, you couldn’t defend yourself when he shouted at you.

He knew for once he had to allow himself to put him before you, he needed to get out. But he couldn’t bare the thought of you getting hurt and him not being there to help.

He glanced down at you, silently smoking a cigarette as he watched you. You didn’t have your own room, you just shared his bed, so right now you were just curled into his side and sleeping quietly, small bruises on your arms from where your father had earlier grabbed you.

Silently, he reached down and wiped away your dried tears, a heavy sigh leaving his lips as he thought about the situation he was in, but then paused when he saw you stirring.

“Shhh…I’m sorry, love. Go back to sleep..” Simon muttered quietly, gently picking you up and settling you down on his stomach as he protectively held you close, sighing and closing his eyes as he buried his head into your thin and soft hair.