I was not going to cry. I needed to be strong. I would not give Him the satisfaction of seeing me suffer. He wanted to break me, well He would have to try a lot harder. I clenched my teeth and squeezed my eyes shut to keep any tears from escaping. He was almost done. I could tell by the way His breath was coming in gasps and His blows were less swift, delivered with less force.finally He stopped. He muttered a stream of curses and left the room, slamming the door. I sat very still for a moment to make sure he wasn't coming back. Every inch of exposed skin stung. He never punched or kicked us, for fear of leaving a bruise. Slaps only left a temporary mark. Any blood was easily covered. If He was confronted by anyone, He could lie and be believed. That's why none of us told. No one would believe us. There was no solid proof.
I heard Him move from room to room and from each came the sound of skin coming in contact with skin and the occasional uncontrolled whimper or shriek from one of the younger children. I wanted to press my hands over my ears, but I just sat. At last there was silence. A car door slammed.and an engine revved. Then nothing. I took a shaky breath and blinked fast, but the tears still came, as they always did. I shook silently for a few minutes until I heard doors squeak open. i quickly wiped my eyes and tried to compose myself. My door opened slowly and three kids stood in the doorway, wide-eyed and still red. I gave them a weak smile. Marie, the youngest, had tears streaking down her face. I forced myself to keep from sobbing. She was only seven. It broke my heart to see her like this.
