Help Me God

Lets play a game

I sit in the corner of a dark room. Music blares. A makeshift table sits in the middle. A group of guys hunch over the table.
"Oh come on," Lords name in vain, "Fine Steve. You get this one. But dont think I wont get the next round."
One of the men grumbles. I reconigze all the men. I saw them every Thursday. "Shut the," insert your favorite f word, "Tim. Im whooping your," another word for your behind.
I snicker. Tim glares at me.
"What are you laughing at you little," what would you call me?
"Nothing sir."
Fear wraps over me like fog on a city. It blankets me making sweat bead my forehead. I shake my head and avert my eyes.
"Why do you bring a child to these games?"
I notice the bottles accumulate around Tims feet. He looks up to Bobby. Bobby is my favorite. He doesn't drink too much and he is the nicest one here. Hes also the oldest. He is more laid back then the others. He doesn't curse nearly as much, and he normally tries helping in small ways that only we notice.
"Why dont you mine your own," what does a beaver build "business Bobby?"
He turns to me and winks. At least he took the attention from me. I smile. I see another can drop. It clanks as it meets the floor. I flinch. Soon the game meets an end. All that are left are Tim, Steve, and Bobby. Tim slams his cards on the table. A look of accomplishment on his face. He directs his eyes to Steve, who put all in. Steve faces begins to pale when he sees Tims cards. He tries to hide it but its useless, he looks like Casper. "Well," you know what he would say, "Tim."
Tim takes all the chips. They are just playing for the $70 in the middle of the table. Why do they get so upset if they lose? Steve loses all the time. He slams his hand on the table so hard im amazed it doesn't break. After jerking out of his chair he makes his way to the door, just like Johnson, Will, and Kyle, all of which left sooner and just as equally loud.
After three more rounds Tim does the same as Steve. Except after he gets up he walks to the back room. Maybe to get another drink I dont know. Bobby walks over to me. "Here. Keep this kid."
He hands me a $10 bill. Its wrinkled from its previous owners but still in fairly decent shape. Tim storms back up here and I try hiding the money but he sees it. As soon as we walk out the door and down a few blocks he grabs my arm. "Give me the money."
"Oh. Daddy your hurting my arm."
"GIVE ME THE," Lords name in vain, "MONEY YOU LITTLE PIECE OF," my nickname that's not Scar.
His words slur as he jerks my arm hard. Pain pierces my arm as his grip tightens. He pins me against a wall one hand out expectantly the other no longer on my arm but my neck. I try to scream but I can't. Air wont enter my lungs. Banging my head against a building, he starts going through my pockets. I try kicking but realize he'll just tighten his grip and I need my feet to stand otherways it'll hurt more. Daddy let me go. The world begins to blur. Everything slurs just like his words did.
Abruptly everything stops. Except air enters my lungs and the pain lingers. "Didn't you hear her Timothy? Your hurting her."
The burly voice from the game fills my ears. I open my eyes to see that Bobby has Tim pinned to the ground. The wrestle like that for a little while then sirens fill the air. A cop pulls up, I take off before it can see me. Hiding behind something, im not sure what, I watch. The cops get out. One with a booming voice shouts. "Stop."
Authority drips in his voice. "Both of you. Stop what you are doing now."
He isn't playing any games. Bobby puts his hands up and the two cops get Tim. Another car pulls up and it has another cop in it. He comes out to get Bobby. He ask him a few questions like what happened? Bobby told him. He doesn't mention me running off and everything else. They ask him to come with them and he agrees. He doesn't get fancy handcuffs like Tim, he just sits in the back seat.
The dull throbbing in my neck and the back of my head keep me company.