The icy dew on the delicate morning grass tickles my bare legs. I take a seat and watch as the light twinkles, cracking through the remains of the night. 

My house faces the east. I know this because I grew up watching the sunrise.

My mother would set me on her lap. She would tell me stories about the wonders of the sky in Australia. 

That was when things were different. Easy. 

A body grumbles as the beauty of the day meets his darkness. The light awakens him on our driveway. 

“Where’s your mother?” his voice croaks. 

He only talks about Mum when he’s drunk. Lately that’s more often than not. 

My mum passed two weeks ago.

Ever since it feels like the world has been spinning out of control. 

The only things I can count on to be normal are the sun, the moon, and the stars.

I slip my hands under the armpits of my intoxicated father. Thankfully, he is slim. I can heave him up toward our door.

I reach for the handle. I’m desperate to escape the cold. 

The door swings open just out of reach. 

My seven-year-old little sister’s teary eyes greet me. She glances at my father and her lip trembles. 

Great. 

I don’t mean to seem annoyed but clearly, I do. I know because she stares blankly at the ground, blinking away tears. 

I release my dad’s body with a thump. The noise makes my sister jump. I’m tired and running out of empathy.

Using my pointer finger I raise her shivering chin and meet her eyes. Despite her stubbornness, they’re betraying her. 

When we make eye contact, I don’t have to say anything. Her tears spill.

I crouch down so she can bury her head in my shoulder. 

My sixteen-year-old body threatens to crawl up into a ball. The ache in my heart splits a little bit more. 

The school counselor warned me holding everything in could lead to an eruption.

But I don’t have a choice.

My sister’s eyes dry and my shirt is soaked. I haul my father inside.

I rush to the bathroom, choking back my own sorrow.

This is the only place I allow myself to break down. Two minutes. Then I pull myself together and get back to the open fire.

But the flames still burn me in my safe haven. I slide my back down the locked door of my bathroom.

The sobs rack through me, silently, like waves in the ocean. I take a couple deep breaths. I wipe my eyes and stare into the mirror.

I pull at my rough skin. There are dark circles swallowing my face.

I stare into a reflection I don’t recognize. A reflection I don’t want to know.

The deep huffs from the neighboring room remind me of my duties. Like my firefighter father, I embrace the flames.