It still hurts. My eye, that is. Dad had a few to many yesterday night. He took a swing at me when I went to show him my report card. I don't blame him though, it's the drink. He's a good dad really. I'm not doing so well in school, the teacher wanted to talk to me this morning. She asked why I haven't been handing in my homework. I couldn't say that I didn't have time because I had to clean the house and try force food down Brad's throat. He's weaker now, I'm so scared for him. I told her that I found it hard even though I'm the best in my class at almost everything. She asked if everything was okay at home as well. I said yes, because if I tell them that dad hit me they will take us away from him. After he hit me I crawled into the corner under the stairs, my sanctuary. He came in and knelt on one knee beside me his face an inch from my own.
'You better not tell anyone what happened.' he whispered to me, lingering slightly on 'tell'.
'I wont Daddy! I promise, I love you and Brad!' I made a grab to try hug him, I haven't touched him in years. He pushed me back hard with a disgusted face.
'You know what happens if you tell? You and Brad get taken away and seperated. Do you know what they do to kids like you in foster care? You don't want to know. If anyone asks you what happened, say you fell over. Got it kid?' his eyes weren't what I remember from the old days. When Mum was alive and Brad talked to me. When brad didn't look like the skeleton in my science book.
So I didn't tell my teacher what happened, because I love Brad and don't want him to ever have to hurt like I do. I try my best, but my best is just never good enough anymore.........