EIGHT

                                    

                                          
Then -  Michael
                          


                          
Months have passed since I first laid eyes on the little, black haired girl behind my house. Every night since that day, we have sat in that tree together. Some nights, we just sit in silence, embracing each others company. There is a kind of comfort that we have with one another - some kind of happiness that only we can give each other. 
                          
And then there are the other nights where I can't get the little, fourteen-year-old girl to shut up. She talks and talks about anything and everything, yet somehow I find myself listening to her. Her voice is soothing no matter what spills from her lips. Her words enthral me, hooking me in so I don't go anywhere. 
                          
Today, I'm waiting in our tree. It's Ella's fifteenth birthday tomorrow, and I know she is going to want to talk about her plans with me. Her excitement for this day has been contagious all week and I found myself searching for the perfect gift for her today. 
                          
The sound of a door slamming shut snaps me out of my thoughts and I turn towards it. 
                          
"I hate you! You are nothing but a drunk and I hate you!" The small, black-haired girl screams as she backs towards the tree. Her shoulders are rising rapidly and I can hear her frantic breathing from here. 
                          
"Watch your fucking mouth. You are turning fifteen. You don't need anything for your birthday anyway!" A deep voice roars. "And don't slam my doors!" 
                          
"You promised!" She cries out. "You promised that you would take me camping. You promised, Dad! Maybe you shouldn't make promises you can't keep!"
                          
Suddenly, a six-foot man with black hair storms out of the house. His face red in anger and his green eyes dark. A brown bottle of what I assume to be beer is grasped tightly in his hand as he stalks toward the small girl below me. 
                          
"You listen here, Carmella." He spits. "I am your father and what I say goes. I work hard for my fucken money and I will spend it how I please."
                          
"Yeah, on your beer and whiskey. Real awesome, Dad." She mumbles.
                          
A smack echoes through the air and I see Ella's head snap to the side. "Watch your fucking mouth." Her dad says before turning around and stomping back into the house. 
                          
Ella releases a loud scream before throwing a chair that leans against the fence. I take this as my moment to make my presence known.
                          
"Hey." I say awkwardly, catching her attention. Her cheek is red with a large handprint and her eyes are full of unshed tears. 
                          
"You saw that?" She asks shyly. 
                          
I nod my head. "Yeah."
                          
She sighs before reaching up and grabbing onto a low branch to hoist herself up. "I wish you didn't." She mutters, more so to herself. 
                          
Unsure of what to say, I ask, "Are you okay? Your face I mean?"
                          
She doesn't answer until she reaches the same branch as me. "Yeah, I'm fine." 
                          
I nod my head. "I'm sorry. I know how excited you were for your-"
                          
"I should know better." She interrupts. "I should know better than to get excited about something. I should know better than to believe in his promises. 
                          
"Christ, I should fucking know better by now. I'm fifteen years old!" She curses, smacking her knee in frustration. 
                          
"He's your dad. It's only natural to want to believe in him." I say. "Trust me, I know. After my brother died from cancer five years ago, my father just...kinda changed. He was absent, even though he was here. Eventually, he just took off and didn't come back. Left a note for me that it was all too much and left it at that. Haven't seen him in four years. Haven't heard from him in three. 
                          
"It's just my mom and me...and she ain't much either." I sigh. "She's a drinker too."
                          
Carmella's eyes widen at my admission and her hand lands on mine. "Shit, I'm sorry Mike." She says and I shake my head. 
                          
"You don't need to apologize. It's not your fault. Just know that I understand, probably more than anyone." I tell her honestly. "And I will always be here for you when you need someone to vent to.
                          
"Just next time, maybe don't provoke him. I don't want to see you hurt."