I quietly opened the door to the living room and peered inside. My stepfather was on the couch watching tv. The smell of cigarette smoke and alcohol hung in the air.

I tiptoed to the kitchen and put my lunchbox on the corner. In a cupboard I found half a bar of chocolate. I was heading towards the door again when his voice cut through the silence.

'Hey, Marise, why so stealthy?' He asked me, a cocky grin playing on his lips.

'Afraid of me?' I turned around.

'No. I just didn't want to disrupt you,' I said, with all the courage I could muster. It wasn't much.

He glared at me.

'You're lying. Come here.' I shuffled forward, trying not to look like he was a Death Eater.

He grabbed my arm, holding it tight. His voice had dropped to an angry whisper.

'I said: are you afraid of me?'

I shook my head.

'No, Peter.'

The anger left his face, and he let go of me, looking bored. He ignored me while I went upstairs, trying not to rub my arms.

A few more bruises to finish the pattern.

Okay, that was a really short one. And it came far too late, sorry. Not that anyone's reading this anyway, but let's keep up the pretense;)