Walking home, she felt as if if her body wasn't her own; instead it was the object of her father's rage that she merely happened to be the reluctant warden of. In some twisted way that made it feel a little less personal; as if he still loved her like she was his little girl. He just needed somewhere to dump all that anger - nothing personal. "Come on, you know it doesn't last that long. When it's over and done with, you get a good few days break before it happens again." she thinks to herself.
The disgust in her almost willing involvement in her father's abuse toward Matt - her 11 year-old brother - and herself, makes her sick. "At least Matty is away on his school camping trip 'til Sunday; I can put up with him." trying to console herself with little effect. She digs through her Hello Kitty schoolbag for her keys and is reminded of days before the realization that her life was not meant to be the same as the rest of the kids on her street, her neighborhood or anywhere else. She's had the same bag since 5th grade; before the beatings started - before Mom left. It was the last thing Mom gave her.
Mandy finds her keys, and like her very own prison warden, leads herself down the pathway to the front door of 63 Sycamore Street. "63 Sycamore Street" is how she thinks of the place she lives in; not home - just 63 Sycamore Street - nothing personal.