Little Sister

Hey, little sister. We were magic, you and I - our imaginations took us to worlds that nobody else could go. We could have been twins. Maybe we should have been! I remember telling people who asked us that we were. We shared that joke between us, and giggled over it many times. We could speak to each other without any words, do you remember?
I never wanted anything to hurt you, ever. When you came to school, when you were seven, even then I was protecting you, hovering around your dorm and always sneaking glances your way when we were in the dining hall or walking to our classrooms. I don't remember wondering if anything was happening to you back then. I do remember being afraid of it, and afraid for you. I made myself your guardian, but I was so small, only nine years old. We were both so small, but you were already as tall as I, and soon to pass me vertically forever.
I remember being told not to be around your dorm so much, that you needed me to not be there so that you could adjust to being away from your parents. It made me so angry, them telling me that. I didn't listen. I was there for you when you woke up in the morning, making sure your hair was brushed and you were wearing clothes without stains on them. I was there at night when you went to bed. I would sit by you and listen to you breathe, always worried that one night, you would just stop. I remember putting my ear closer to your face so that I could hear you breathing and be reassured that you were still there.
That year, when you were older - ten years old maybe? Your little friends came running to find me, frantic about you being beaten by your dorm father. I raced to your dorm, and yelled at him to his face. I threatened him that I would radio mom and dad and tell them about how he was treating you. He backed down, but I was punished later for having intervened.
You were always so shy, but the older you got, it seemed the more you went into yourself, and I feel like I lost you somewhere along the way.
I am so sorry, little sister. I wish I had been bigger and stronger and braver. I wish I could have sheltered you from everything that happened. I wish I had known how to scream more loudly, how to push back harder against them. I wish I could have known the words to speak so that we could have gone home to mom and dad, and stayed there. I carry this with me, this idea that I should have protected you more. I fear so much for you now, for what you may have endured that you cannot remember, the things that happened that affect you now so much, every day.
I would have died for you, if I could have. I still would.