|Blood is Thicker than Water
Author: Paralove PM
We've all heard the saying, but does anybody really understand it? R&R's much appreciated!Rated: Fiction T - English - Angst/Family - Words: 493 - Published: 11-26-11 - Status: Complete - id: 2974272
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
It's a funny thing.
Vibrant and red, it's the colour of life but also the colour of danger. Babies are born covered in blood and when you die, it drains from your body. Life and death, it is an integral part of both. Battles are fought over it, yet to have 'blood on your hands' is a terrible thing.
Bloodshed, blood loss, blood promise; always contradicting.
The tie you have to your family. Ironic really, it's the colour of love, the liquid of hate. They wonder why I'm confused?
Blood is thicker than water.
Everybody knows that, right? I've known the phrase for as long as I can remember, but I don't think I've ever really understood it.
It was one of dad's favourite sayings... before he left. I can remember a time when I was eight and I had wanted to go to my friend's birthday party, which, just as my luck would have it, fell on the same day as my cousin's wedding. I can remember crying, shouting, stamping my feet - all the things you do when you're little until you realise they make no difference. I'd been using the 'silent treatment' for a whole day before Dad crouched down next to me and said, "Blood is thicker than water, Jaynie".
Needless to say, I went to the wedding.
Three weeks later, Dad was gone. Now he lives up on the coast with his new family; a new wife and two step kids. I haven't seen him in three years.
Blood? Thicker than water? Remember that Dad?
Didn't think so.
When I was twelve, mum met boyfriend number three, who eventually went on to become husband number two. The first time he hit me, I was thirteen and I ran away straight to my best friend's house. I felt safe there for the night, until the next day when her mum told me I should go home.
"Blood is thicker than water, Jaynie," she said. "Your mum will be worried, go home".
So I went home.
The fourth time he hit me, I started blaming mum. If blood is thicker than water, then why was she letting this happen to her daughter, her own flesh and blood? When he hit me again when I was fifteen...after mum had promised that the next time she'd leave...I'd had enough. I organised to go and live with some old friends of mine, out of town.
He walked in as I was packing.
"What do you think you are doing?" he slurred. "Blood is thicker than water, Jaynie. You can't leave this place where your family is."
I left anyway.
I'd come to understand something. As I walked away from my house and from my life...I realised.
Blood might be thicker than water, but I'd rather drink water anyday.