"There you are you little shit."
No. No. No. Not the burn.
"She can't hear you, you fucking maggot." He grabs my hair and pulls me out from under the kitchen table.
"Ow. Ow. Ow."
He's smoking. The Smell. Cigarettes. It's a dirty smell. Like old and nasty. He's dirty. Like Trash. Like drains. He drinks brown licker from a bottle.
"And even if she could, she doesn't give a fuck." He shouts. He always shouts.
His hand hits me across the face. And again. And again. No. No.
I fight him. But he laughs. And takes a puff. The end of the cigarette shines bright red and orange.
"The burn." He says.
The Pain. The Pain. The Pain. The smell.
Burn. Burn. Burn.
Pain. No. No. No.
He laughs and laughs. He has two teeth gone...