Quiet, can’t let him know I’m here. Yet I’m curious. Like an itch that must be scratched, I pull back the blanket that conceals my presence under my single bed. I can see thousands of tiny dust particles threw the light that shines through the crack, floating and undisturbed by my escalating heart rate. I peer around my bedroom that I have inhabited since I moved here five years ago with my Mother.
Things have changed so much since then.
I see my discarded clothing on the floor from yesterday; I see my tenth grade math textbook and long forgotten homework stack in the corner. I can make out the bottom of my black dresser and bookcase, stuffed full of the only footprints I have left so far in the world.
And now I can see the door swinging open and crashing into the wall, shaking the one story house on the back roads of Fredericton. I quickly let go of the blanket as my stepfather’s boots come into sight.
But I am not, and was never, fast enough.
` “You think you can hide from me you little bitch!” He roars as his footsteps come towards the bed. I shrink against the wall and squeeze my eyes shut, praying to dissolve into dust.