memory makes my chest hurt.
“you’re not sorry, you’re never sorry! you’d do better if you were sorry!” a slapping sound echoes all the way up to my room.
i squeeze my eyes together even more, clasping my hands to my ears. i begin to cry, pushing my chair back and rushing for my closet. mommy told me that’s what i need to do when they start fighting, that i need to close the door and sit down and think of happier things until they are all better. i slam the door to my closet behind me, dropping to the carpet and pressing my back against the wall. i look around at 