VALERIE

When I wake up the next morning, I stare up at the peeling ceiling of my bedroom, wondering if I should get up or stay in today.

I don't want to come out of this room, and brace myself for whatever scene may be waiting for me out there. Either Mum with some guy, or Mum lying on the ground, beaten up again.

I've been thinking for a long time now if I should tell the police what's been going on. But there's so many things that could go wrong. What if they don't believe me? What if they take me away, and then Mum would have to be alone? What if Dad catches me? How would I be able to defend myself?

But was I helping Mum? Was standing aside idly while she got beaten up really helping? There was something I could do. There must be some way I could make things better.

My fingers grazed the scratches on my neck, my skin rough and a bit bumpbumpy. I wonder if what happened had caused me to scratch again.

I sit up and climb out of bed. The cold of the room hits me as soon as I throw off my blanket. I throw on a jumper, before wrapping my scarf around my neck, and headed out of the room.

The sofa and table is covered in empty beer cans and food containers with half finished fish and chips and pizza, and the house smells of it too. I can hear clinking sounds from the kitchen, and the kettle is boiling. She is here alone. Thank God.

I pick up some of the containers, and go into the kitchen. Mum is already dressed up, a black, wide-legged jumpsuit that is slightly loose around her small figure, and her hair's in large bouncy curls. Her back is to me as she dries the dishes next to the sink.

"You look nice."

"Haven't worn this in ages. Didn't realise how much weight I'd lost though. This thing used to hug all the curves, now there's none to hug." She gives a light but shaky chuckle.

I throw the old food and containers into the bin, as I go over the right words to say in my head. "Mum...I want to ask you something."

"Uh-huh."

"Are you...are you happy?"

She stops what she is doing, and doesn't turn around. "What are you talking about? Of course I'm happy."

"Are you sure? Even with everything going on...with Dad?"

"You're father is a fool, but he is also a provider for this house. And what he doesn't give me, Timmy gives me. He gives me love. I have a home, and a lover. What else do I need to make me happy?"

I cringe when she says the word "love" in the same sentence as "Timmy".

"Well..." I sigh. "I'm not happy."

"Then find yourself a man. You've never been in love before, have you?"

My heart clenches at these words, as I'm reminded of how little my Mum knows about my life now. "No." I lie.

"Trust me when the right man comes your way, you'll feel complete in yourself, my girl. You don't understand yet, but you will."

"So all I need is a man to make me happy?"

"And a good house. Which you have already."

I shake my head. "Mum, the point I'm trying to make is...I'm not happy because I don't like the things that Dad does."

"Well neither do I, but I've got a distractio-"

"I want to report him to the police."

There is silence for a few moments. "What?" She whispers.

"He can't keep treating us like this. It needs to stop-"

Mum swings around, and I jump when I see her face, drained and lifeless, except her eyes which are wide with a dark wildness to them. I take a few steps back.

"Your father puts food on that table, and gives you a place to stay." She storms towards me, and grabs my shoulders, her long fingers digging into my skin. My breathing quickens.

"Mum-"

"Don't answer back to me! You're an ungrateful little cretin, who doesn't know when to keep her mouth shut. You see what he does to me. But do I complain? No! Because I'm someone who knows my place. I don't want to hear you talking about him like that again. In fact, I don't want to even see you right now." She lets go and steps back. "Get out."

I clench my jaw, and try to blink back tears, but my sight is getting blurred. "Why are you letting him do this? Why are you defending him, Mum? Don't you want to be free from him?"

"I said get. Out."

The tears are streaming down my face now, and a large lump has formed in my throat. "Fine." I say to her, my voice coming out in small chokes. "I don't want to see you either."

I turn and stride out the kitchen. Wiping my tears with the back of my sleeve, I slip my feet into my shoes, and open the door. Before I leave, I pause. "How did it all get to this, Mum? What happened to us?"

I don't wait for an answer, because I know she won't say anything. I step out and slam the door behind me, burying my hands in my pockets. I look up at the pale, and soulless grey of the sky.

Back when this type of thing started happening, I'd go to Fraya's house. She would know what's wrong as soon as she opened the door. She'd grab me and hug me tight, and tell me she was here for me. Then she'd take me inside and let me talk about it, and if I didn't want to talk about it, she'd order food and we'd sit in front of her television in her forest and crystal themed bedroom, and watch Disney movies from our childhood. But I know I can't go there anymore. I can't go back to that house, back to that time when almost everything was okay.

Then there was Marjorie. If I went there and told her what had happened, maybe she'd take me to the back, sit me in front of the fire again, and comfort me with kind words and hot drinks.

But I know that's not true. I knew for a fact that Marjorie would not do anything wrong to me. But she'd try to do the right thing. She'd call the police. And that idea got me in this situation in the first place.

I shake my head, and exhale, a small puff of fog escaping my mouth. My fingers tug my scarf downwards, as the my neck begins to tingle. I'I've managed to stop the tingling for a few weeks now, since things have been calm. But it's getting more and more difficult by the day. I wrap my arms around myself, only now remembering how cold it is. But I know I can't go back there.

I start walking. Anywhere away from here would be fine.