When mom would lock us in our room, and all the lights were out, their voices flooded in the room and I could hear dad shout. Something about business, alcohol, or money, it was one thing or another that kept them from calling the other “honey”.
Light crept in from under the door, but unlike the light at the end of the tunnel, the other side wasn’t pretty.
I laid in bed, tears running down my little face, tugging the blankets toward my chest, and trying to keep the fear at bay.
I busied my mind with boys and books, but the voices grew so loud, the house shook. It was unignorable, and the next day my face was red and puffy, the kids at school would laugh and stare, thinking I was “funny”.