It is magic. I believe in magic. Believing in magic my way means that you never get harmed no matter what you do. She folded her arms, pushing her book away. It gave a satisfying whack as it hit the mirror. It was only within the last year her parent's relationship had become rotten, like an apple with gold oozing pus leaking out. Daddy had been going lots of places, maybe sleeping with other girls. But then he thought she was sleeping with other men. She had watched them with envious eyes, they had an addiction to each other, and she wanted to understand and experience it.Every touch either killed them or brought them to life. They were a cocktail of emotion and passion and it was like a drug that they tried running away from it. It was a leech, sucking the life from them. They couldn't breath without being inside each other's head, without have power over each other. They were hooked on the toxic love. There had been so many arguments that the child had realised her parents wouldn't quit on each other. They would always have a one last shot, believing they could handle being alone and then quit. If she were a drug as a metaphor, her mother would be more dependant on it, even though she had been more tempted to walk away.
"I HATE YOU!"

"GOOD! PERFECT REASON FOR ME TO LEAVE!"

"WELL THERE'S THE DOOR, SWEETHEART!"

"OKAY, BABY!"
Why wouldn't they just shut up? The seven year old preyed for silence. Every birthday she would blow out her candles and wish for it. She would also wish that her Daddy would show up before the end of the party. Her parents knew exactly which buttons to press. You could see them both roasting as they poured hot fat on each other and crackle.

"YOU NEVER SPEND TIME WITH HER! SHE IS YOUR DAUGHTER TOO!"
She looked from her folded arms on the dressing table and looked into the polished mirror. The white light made her face look like fossilised flesh. Tears dribbled down her face. She didn't think she was pretty; she thought she looked like a half-starved frog with dental problems. She liked her eyes, her dead, glass eyes are hard like polished stones. She got bullied because of a gap between her two front teeth. She wiped away her tears that were weaving paths across her cheeks. She rubbed the tears so hard that when she looked at her reflection, her cheeks were rings of pink staining her milk skin.
"EVERY PROMISE YOU BREAK, YOU BREAK HER HEART AND I ALWAYS, ALWAYS HAVE TO BE THE ONE THAT PICKS UP THE PIECES!"
She stepped up to the window, leaning out slightly. She could see all the houses and the windows and the doors in them and the rooms behind all those windows and doors. It was like looking like she was looking behind a forest or into a deep ocean. She had never seen the sea in person, and she reckoned it was beautiful. We live behind the windows and doors. The houses were next to each other and fences or trees divided the street. It was like everyone belonged to a tribe but her: everyone had their families. Her stomach stirred, the noise of her gut shrank and expanded. She had been sat the kitchen table eating a disgusting mess of beans or sprouted seeds or something that her mother had left out several hours before she left for work, when they came arguing at other. She had simply slithered away to her bedroom, sighing at her father. He had forgotten to pick her up, again. Before she could be more understanding, but she was tired of having to phone one of her 'uncles' to come and pick her up from school.
"HERE'S WHAT I THINK OF YOUR STUPID-."
Something smashed and the pottery or glass clattered to the floor. She imagined her cold, yogurty dinner congealing on the floor. The small brunet picked up her doll; one of her limited prized possessions. She hugged it tightly, her small fingers brushing the horsehair curls.
"SHE DOESN'T NEED A FATHER WHO BUYS HER THINGS TO MAKE UP FOR MISSING OUT ON HER LIFE. SHE NEEDS HER DAD! SHE NEEDS YOU...I NEED YOU"
Her mother would probably be crying about now. A couple moved down the road. She watched them as they walked past the house. She had seen them a few times and thought they were beautiful. She was a frizzy blonde with a turned up little nose and he had fantastic eyes, like liquid gold and dark, black hair. He turned and looked up to her and waved, such a very gentile wave, not at all patronizing. The couple smiled at her and continued to walk on.
"! I WISH I'D NEVER FALLEN IN LOVE WITH YOU."
"LOVE? YOU THINK WE HAD LOVE? OUR RELATIONSHIP WAS ALWAYS ONE STEP FORWARD TWO STEPS BACK, LIKE A FRICKING YO-YO!"
It had been the type of smile superman would give when talking about justice and hope. She needed to rescued, but the question was, by who? Surely all people behaved like her mom and dad. She didn't even have to be rescued just lied to. Told that the good guys always were stalwart and true and the bad guys wore black clothes and that hero's always saved the day. That no one ever got hurt and everyone lives happily ever after. She could live with that lie, she could believe it.
"YOU HAVE ALWAYS PUT YOUR PRECIOUS JOB FIRST."
"SO HAVE YOU!"
"YOU ARE JUST LIKE YOUR OWN FATHER!"
They had started arguing sooner than she had expected. They had gone out, something to do with her fathers job, a party. She had previously been to one, when she was about 5, and spilt soda down her dress. The glass had slipped out of her child hands and hit the floor and all the giant adults stared at her. Her mother had come rushing over, absorbing the liquid with tissues. She looked over to her father who had given her such a pure look of disownment. It felt humiliating when she realised own father treated her like a circus freak.
"WELL I AM SORRY THAT I STOPPED TURNING A BLIND EYE EVERYTIME YOU GO OFF TO THAT….." She shut her eyes, as if by doing that it blocked her ears, she hated hearing her mother swear, it was so unnatural.
"I BEEN COMPLETELY FAITHFUL TO YOU, I BET YOU CAN'T SAY THE SAME!"
She loved and hated her parents. He occasionally brought a woman home from work, who is several months older than her own mother. He spent more time with her than he did with his own daughter. She had a mass of yellow soft hair and big eyes with long lasses. She wished that he would speak to her soft, gooey and sicken sweet. Mom thinks she looks like bambi with a wig on. The stairs were creaking. They are coming up stairs. Oh no. Make them go away
"OH FOR GOD'S SAKE, DON'T BE SO DRAMATIC. OH WAIT, THAT'S WHAT YOU ARE GOOD AT IN THIS FREAK SHOW OF MARRIAGE."
There was a pause until she heard her mother speak softly.

"Freak show?"
"I didn't mean that."
"I have to go."
"Honey, wait-."

"GET YOUR HAND OFF ME!"

Make them go away. Please. Make them go away.
The voices were getting louder and so were the footsteps. She dropped her doll, running back to her dresser, starting to brush her hair. She noticed how cold her feet were. The door flew open, that brass handle hitting the wall. The bang had made her drop her hairbrush. It had sounded like a gunshot. Her mom walked in and kneeled in front of her while her father hovered at the door. The tone had calmed down, like when you are trapped in eye of a storm.
"Are you okay, baby." Her aged fingers tangled though the brown soft curls while her thumb ghosted over her daughter's cheek, her eyes leaking tears.
"Yeah, Mom." She looked over to her Dad who was watching her and he smiled softly, his arms corkscrewed in his pockets and concerned frown on his face.
"Listen, can you put some clothes in your backpack. We are going to stay at one of your Mommy's friends for a few days. Can you do that for me?" She nodded and smiled sadly at her father. She would always be his little butterfly.
"Thank you." Her mother pushed by her father, hitting his shoulder.
"Get out of my way, Gil."
"Sara-."
He turned to go after, and since they were talking softer now, she had to strain to hear her parents words. Her parents, Gil and Sara. Her Daddy and Mommy. She was the only thing that connected them now.