they looked backward and said goodbye

[cibosity]

Even a seven-year-old can tell that there's something not right about this situation. Five times now, he's heard the same conversation between his parents, the same ring of a gunshot echoing in their tiny hall, before footsteps approach the spot that he's taken under the bed, curled so that his knees meet his chest. It's always shouting and yelling, then silence, and every time James swears that it must be the last, because he used to think that he was a lucky kid but doesn't anymore. But he doesn't even manage to hold his breath for half a minute before it starts again, the yelling and pleading and James almost swears that it's like hope is tainting the tip of his tongue with a bitter flavor. He knows it's bad to make wishes, but he figures that he doesn't have to wish for much, just that things won't fall to silence again.

Because he can't stand being alone.

Five times then, and now six, he's heard the same conversation between his parents, and now he's finally giving way to the tears that have been brimming for a while, hiccuping under the bed and feeling awful for it, because maybe it means pa will hear, and then next time, pa won't decide to come back at all.