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He’s lost his fucking mind.

He’s supposed to love me, look after me, protect me.

He stands and comes towards me.

I close my eyes and wait for what he is going to do next.

His footsteps stop next to me, but I keep my eyes down, not daring to look at him to see the rage that I know is there.

“Why do you do this, Lucy? You keep making mistakes.”

I hear him sigh, and then his footsteps resume, he walks past me and a few seconds later I hear the bedroom door shut.

I need the toilet, but he told me not to move.

I need a blanket, but he told me not to move.

I don’t deserve to be treated like this.

I could run, but he would just come after me, of that I am sure.

I didn’t do anything wrong, and I’m being punished anyway.

My mind is full of questions, none of which I have the answers to.

The first tear falls.

And then another.

I sob silently.

I can’t make any noise as it would only anger Michael more.

So I stay put and take the punishment.

Anything for a quiet life.

Chapter Thirty-One

He’s got me

“Get up.” Michael’s stern voice makes me open my eyes.

I groggily push myself up off of the floor, every part of me is aching from the discomfort of being led here all night. I slowly move onto my knees to get to my feet, but it obviously isn’t quick enough for Michael as he grabs my arm and pulls me to a standing position. I feel dizzy and it takes a moment for it to pass.

“Sit,” is his next instruction. He pulls out one of the chairs at the kitchen table and I sit my weary body down.

I’m shaking where I am so cold, and probably traumatised from being treated so badly. Michael doesn’t say another word as he busies himself putting the kettle on and taking two mugs out of the cupboard. I watch him in a daze.

How can he treat me this way?

He’s supposed to love me.

It’s the same questions that circled on a loop in my mind all night long.

I rub my sore eyes and stifle a yawn. I can’t do anything that might trigger a reaction from him. It’s only Saturday morning, and I don’t want to spend my whole weekend paying for whatever the hell Michael thinks that I did wrong.

“Here,” he says as he places a hot mug of coffee in front of me.