• It’s getting worse. Sitting slouched on her highly positioned desk chair, she willingly takes her strength and power inside of her away as she crawls herself to the corner of her bedroom and sits in the fetal position and gives in to the release she’s all too familiar with. She lets go, but not like usual. A harsh blare echoed from the kitchen and scarred her innocent ears. He grabs the car keys and leave like he always did. Silence.


    Cassie considered the ruckus her two other “in-mates” produced as simply background noise. She grew slightly used to it after seventeen years; however it still unsettled her deep within. Mumbled criticism followed the creaking crash-slam of the pantry door; slamming for attention. Delicate china was regarded as plastic plates and hurled hard, hitting the wooden bench. The sliding laundry door became a victim of abuse and, while they were oblivious to the unnoticed, she sat on her bed, crying.