"Yes, hello, I want to talk to someone who helps kids that get abused?" she says. The person she called, works for child services.

"Hello, and who is this?" someone says, staticly through the other side.

"Jackie. I'm eight." she admits.

"Jackie, are you being hurt right now?"

"No, not right at the moment." she says.

"Why are you calling me, hon?"

"Um, my dad hurts me, and my brother slapped me yesterday. They say I deserve it, but I just can't understand what they say!" she whispers a bit loud. She covers the mouthpiece and pauses. When it's silent she, again, rests her head on the phone.

"How does your dad hurt you? People are on their way to you."

"Um, daddy always thinks I'm lying. And Momma lied when she said it was going to be ok."

"Uh huh, but how does your dad hurt you?" the question repeats. She swallows hard.

"He grabs my wrists and pulls me around. My brother slapped me? And he yells in my face."

"Your brother or your dad?"

"What?"

"Who yells at you?"

"Both of them. Momma too, momma said it was all my fault, but I don't know what I did." she admits, shaking.

"I'm sorry I can't help you because yelling isn't abuse. We'll call your parents about your brother, slapping you, but otherwise you'll be fine. You can get through whatever it is you're going through. Alright? Bye."

"Wait, are people still coming for me?" she asks, desperately.

"No, I'm sorry, dear." the line clicks, and she knew the other person had hung up. She wasn't being abused?

"Then why does it hurt so bad?" she whispers, to herself.

"Because you deserve it, and you're a burden." Andrew says, taking the phone from her. He closes the door behind him, leaving her alone.