Finger Patterns

I never went to the police. Who would believe me? What evidence could I give? I can’t remember dates and, thanks to the way I used to put my earbuds in and let my feet take me to where I wanted to go, I don’t know the address. He doesn’t live there now anyways. I […]

Then him

I was 11 when he first came into my life. My stepfather. Traumatised by my Dad leaving, by my mum’s attempted suicide, by suddenly being the oldest child and trying to keep things together. Then him. Controlling to the point of putting hairs across his newspaper after he went to work, then accusing us of […]