Page 66 of Shockproof

And that makes me cry more.

And then he yells.

And then I cry more.

And then she says shh, and he hits her, and she cries.

He never cries.

He just makes us cry.

More bad things happen in my body making me bounce in place. “I gotta potty…”

“Hush, boy!” shouts the man from the couch. “I’m tryin’ to watch the goddamn game over here!”

Tears begin to fill my eyes, and I breathe faster.

I can’t slow it down.

I gotta go.

I gotta really, really go.

Letting my head hit the corner of the walls I’ve been looking at forever, I try not to breathe too loud.

Or cry where he can hear.

I don’t wanna pee on myself.

Not again.

That makes him so mad and then he yells so much and then I don’t get food.

And I need food.

I don’t like the wiggly meat, but I’m so hungry.

I’m always hungry.

My real mommy and daddy never let me be hungry.

Ever.

I miss my real mommy and daddy.

I miss my big boy bed.

I miss my name.

I miss hugs and kisses.

I miss I love you.

They don’t love me.

They don’t want me.

Not really.

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