The pain is terrifying, it feels like I am being ripped in two. He then pokes a finger into a hole down there and I hate the feeling. He put the colouring pencil down on the bed, and says he’s bored of playing colouring in, he wants us to play a different game. ‘Oh you poor thing,’ he says soothingly whilst putting his hand on my head, trying to gauge whether or not I have a temperature. My Dad returns, gives me two painkillers that I’ve been prescribed from the doctor, with a glass of water. ‘Dad’s only in the next room, you know that if he hears you he’ll be mad because you’ve disturbed him.’ The thought of Dad coming through silences me through fear of getting beaten. My bedroom door was shut as normal as my mum had a headache and my dad was in a bad mood.
