The air in my bedroom was cold. It was past midnight, and my empty stomach twisted into a tighter knot with every sound from the kitchen.
Slam. "You useless bitch!" my dad's voice, thick with beer and rage.
Crash. A plate, maybe. Or a glass.
A sharp cry from my mom, then a sickening, wet thump—the sound of a fist hitting flesh. I squeezed my eyes shut, pressing the pillow over my head, but I couldn't block it out. I just sat there, shaking, tears cutting hot paths through the dirt on my cheeks. Fucking helpless.
From the deep shadows in the corner of my room, a shape shifted. The monster, all too-long limbs and patient silence, blinked its large, wet eyes.
"What's wrong,...?" Its voice was a dry rasp, like stones grinding together in a deep well.