“No.”

“But daddy the others can’t go if I don’t.”

“I said no!” he bellowed. “I don’t give a shit about other people’s kids.”

“But-”

“You’re not going anywhere and that’s final!” he roared slamming her against the kitchen cabinets, causing her to bite her tongue, the hot metallic tang of blood filling her mouth. Hunch over in pain she forced herself to swallow it and straighten up; he hated weakness almost as much as defiance.

She rose up her blazing eyes in time to see him take another swig from the bottle of beer on the counter. Disgust swamped her and she turned away, gliding silently out of the kitchen, her head bowed as one who knows defeat.

Her foot was hovering over the bottom step of the stairs when his voice rang out after her. “I don’t wanna hear ‘bout this again, you hear?”

She didn’t reply. To do so might have unleashed the steadily building tidal wave of resentment that strained inside of her. Instead she went noiselessly upstairs to her room where she changed into her tatty pyjamas and got into bed, huddling in the corner farthest from the door.

Different scenarios rushed through her head, each more violent than the last, of what could have happened had she given into the whirling chaos storm growing inside of her. I never ask for anything, she thought. Because of me the other’s holiday is going to be spoilt.

Tears began to trickle down her cheek and she had to stuff her fist to her mouth to stop herself from making a sound as the trickle became a raging flood.

What’s going to happen when I snap? She wondered suddenly, filled with dread. What’s going to happen when the day comes that I break? She quickly shut her mind off from those thoughts but one answer refused to be pushed aside; he’ll kill me.

All her life her whole being had ached-strained-for, something that she had seen but never had, the freedom that was denied her. Two more years, she told herself, two more years and I’ll be gone.

She thought wistfully of all the places she could go, all of them far away from the place she had to call home.

The idea of being her own mistress set her blood coursing with renewed vigour throughout her body, filling her with momentary elation. One day she would escape her cage with it’s bars closing in around her all the time because of who and what she was and the world she lived in.

Two more years of hotfooting around a man who would sooner hit her than hug her, who she should love above all other men but couldn’t.

Two more years until she could be free, soaring away on the breeze like a bird, climbing higher and higher, breaking the chains that had bound her to the earth.

Two more years of yearning, of the burning desire to fly away.

Two more years of having to pretend, to have to put on her mask and muzzle.

Two more years of unaccountable defeats and grievous wounds.

The room began to grow dark. After a while her sister’s boyfriend came in to say goodbye. Reaching over the bed he hugged her wordlessly before squeezing her hard in farewell and retreating to the door. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he assured her and then shut the door behind him.

Her legs began to feel cramped and her back felt cold against the metal bed head. She slipped down under the covers, tucking her knees to her chest, lying on her side, facing away from the door.

Hours later the door opened again and the soft, measured tred of her mother. “Are you alright sweetie?” her mother asked, sitting on the edge of the bed. She didn’t reply and her mother had expected her to. “I’m sorry,” her mother said quietly, smoothing the girl’s hair off her face. “I’m sorry.” Her mother leant over and put her mouth close to her daughter’s ear. “You’re a very special girl,” she whispered. “You’re very precious to me.” The girl’s mother pressed her lips to her daughter’s forehead. “I love you.”

“Love you,” the girl whispered back. Kissing her again her mother left, shutting the door carefully behind her, just as the girl liked it to be.

Sleep was evasive, even more so than normal. The beast inside of her was more rampant when she was tired and unable to keep a tight grip on its lead. And so she was left with her thoughts, a notebook and a pencil until the morning came, dragging her from the shadows in which she took refuge, and into the garish light, another smile fixed on her face as though everything were fine.