You must still Give me your Worst.

(The Second Bit)

She fled to her room and took refuge under the covers. Mum and Dad were arguing though she didn't know why. It was horrible, she wanted it to stop. She even tried praying for it to stop. But it didn't stop, as she knew it would. She tried burying her head in a pillow to dub the noise. But it didn't work, as she knew it wouldn't. She tried to fall into the blissful depths of sleep. But she just couldn't, as she knew she couldn't. She rolled over and tried to cry, for Nanny always said it was best to let it out when you are sad. But the more she tried, the more she stiffened to hold it back. She ended sputtering instead, as she knew she would. Finally she gave up and just lay splayed out and weary, letting the shrieks and shouts wash over her slow and painful.

The argument ended with a slam of the main door and a wail, moan, then sob from Mum. A terrible silence followed soon after. She saw Dad in her mind, towering over Mum; his face contorted in anger and disgust, her mascara running down either cheek in ominous black lines. This image stayed etched in her mind, as she knew it inevitably would.

How she hurt.

Once againagain, you Must still Give me your Worst. ._.