Tuesday
Bree-Anna wakes, her tummy proper hungry without the sick at the same time. She slept on the floor, pushed up tight in her new hiding place between the wall and the dresser. Her mum will get up, make her coffee, take it and her first cigarette onto the patio, and listen to her messages. She has a coffee and ciggie every morning. Maybe she will have a second coffee and another cigarette and then she will come. She has to come.
She lifts up her nightie and touches the bluing bruise on her thigh. She owes him forever. Her shoulders are sore from where they squashed between the wall and the dresser. The back of her head still hurts when she touches it. She slides out of her hidey-hole and across the prickling carpet. She glances at the bed and her stomach dances a little to find it e
