I sat in the corner of my room, shrouded in the darkness of the setting sun, praying. I was staring at my closed door willing it to never open again. Unrestrained arguing battled on the other side. The sound of a breaking bottle reached my ears and I receded into the corner farther as a silent tear slid down my cheek. I heard quiet crying and I knew the bottle had found its target. Loud, pounding, angry footsteps came down the hall toward my room. Please, please, no. Not tonight, I thought and dropped down to crawl under my bed.
I bit down on my lip to keep from screaming, the unstoppable tears were freely flowing now. The blackness about me felt almost welcoming, comforting. If only he wouldn’t find me here I would stay beneath this bed forever until I died from starvation or dehydration. The thought was somewhat comforting, anything was better than this nightly torture.
My door slammed into the wall and I had to bite my lip hard enough to draw blood to stop my uncontrollable sobbing. A firm vicious hand griped restricting round my ankle and the scream I had been fighting back escaped twice as loud as I thought it could. A big powerful hand came crashing against my face to silence me. If only I could fight back, if only I could run, if only I was stronger.