One of those average days when my brother was beating the crap out of me. No one was home except us. He had already chased me all over the house a half dozen times. None of the rooms in this old home had locks on the doors. My brother and I had connecting bedrooms too. He would watch me sometimes while I was undressing. He wasn't a pervert or anything by any means, just normal curiousity I think. But he used that connecting door to his advantage.
I don't remember the reason why he was beating me up. I don't remember most of them. I do remember one time that he forgot his key to the house and it was the dead of winter so instead of the both of us freezing for a couple hours waiting for mom to come home from work he broke the window to the front door and unlocked the door. Of course he hit me that time for not having my key either.
But this particular time I don't remember the reason for the abuse just that I had had enough. No one was defending me and I was weak. He ended up cornering me in the kitchen and he grabbed the spatula from the frying pan and flicked it at me. The hot grease splattered and burned my skin on my arm in a few places. I still have dark spots there. I grabbed the only thing I could find and that was a big knife! One of those chopping knives. I held it in front of me waiting for him to make a move because I was deathly afraid of what was going to happen.
God walked in right then and there. As I stood with tears streaming down my face, no where to run, practically frozen in fear my mother walks in holding a bag of groceries.
"WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING?" She dropped her bag and items spilled out over the floor.
I couldn't say anything. I was so scared. I don't remember what happened after that. But I do know that Eric didn't get punished. I also knew that wasn't the end of it and he would get me sooner or later.
Which he did.