The creak of the floorboards outside her bedroom made Josie freeze, poised on the edge of her thin mattress in the process of pulling on her tattered blue running shoes. Slowly, the doorhandle began to turn. Her breath hitched and she felt the bile rise in her throat. Frantically her eyes swept the entire room, desperately trying to locate somewhere for her to hide, perhaps some small nook or cranny that had appeared overnight. Her search revealed nothing remotely helpful, as she knew it would. The room was as tiny as ever, barely big enough to take three strides across it. There wasn’t even a bed to crawl beneath, only the thin, hole-riddled mattress she was sitting on. Not a single piece of furniture graced the small space; her few possessions stacked against the walls and her second-hand clothes neatly folded in a small travel bag in a corner.

Without a sound, her bedroom door swung inward, revealing the object of her terror. He stood framed in the doorway, a man tall enough he was forced to duck his head to walk into her room. He had the slightly overweight look of an athlete gone to seed and the unhealthy pallor of an abuser of drink and drugs, but Josie knew not to underestimate him. He was fast and he was strong and he knew it. Shaking, Josie hugged her knees to her chest, careful to avoid eye contact with him as he took a step closer. She learnt long ago, if you didn’t do anything to provoke him, he sometimes went away.

Not today, however.

His hand shot out, took a handful of her short brown hair and dragged her upwards. An involuntary whimper escaped Josie’s lips and she hated how pathetic it sounded hanging in the silence of the tiny room. His grip tightened and she could feel strands of her hair parting company with her scalp. Her arms hung limply by her side, her hands balled into fists. She desperately wanted to lash out, to kick and punch and scream at him for years of torment but she knew it would only make it worse for herself. Perhaps even cause her death. She was too weak to do much more than give him a bloody nose. He shook her slightly, daring her to lash out and strike back, toying with her. She clenched her teeth and squeezed her fists closed so hard her nails drew blood from her palms.

‘Why are you still here, Josephine?’ he asked quietly, the scent of stale scotch washing over the skinny girl in his grasp. Josie’s heart skipped a beat; he only used her full name if he was furious. Silently she berated herself for not leaving earlier. Why had she taken so long getting dressed?

‘I’m sorry, I’ll go n -’ she began, but was abruptly silenced with a hard slap to the face that sent her ploughing into the floor. Her hand went to her cheek in an ineffective attempt to dull the stinging pain. Her ears were ringing and she could taste blood in her mouth but she wasn’t given any time to dwell on such things as his boot connected heavily with her side. She curled herself into a ball, though she knew it wouldn’t help much and might even infuriate him further.

‘It’s too late now!’ he roared. ‘They’re already here!’ He kicked her again and again. He was always careful not to bruise her face too much, but had no such reservations with the rest of her body. By this time tomorrow, her sickly pale skin would be painted with a variety of painful colours. Knowing this didn’t stop him from trying to kick her across the room, however. Josie knew who was there, probably listening to her beating with idiotic grins plastered on their faces. He called them his ‘poker’ buddies, even though they did almost everything but play cards.

‘I could go through the window,’ she cried, desperately trying to fend off his blows. He didn’t like his friends looking at her, which was why he wanted her gone before they arrived on Saturday mornings. He was protective in his own way but his taste for her humiliation seemed to far outweigh that side of him.

‘No,’ he announced, pulling her up by the scruff of her neck. ‘You will leave through the front door.’

‘Daddy, please,’ she begged softly, as he marched her out of her room, his fingertips pressing harshly into her flesh. Hearing those words, he stopped abruptly at the top of the narrow staircase.

‘Don’t you dare,’ he snarled, his voice low and dangerous. Something flashed behind his eyes and she realised what was about to happen a second too late. With a sharp shove, he sent her flying down the stairs. She tried to stop herself, tried to grab the handrail, tried to cushion her fall but to no avail. Feeling pain shoot up her spine every time her back connected with the wooden steps, she soon became a crumpled mess on the living room floor. She could hear his ‘poker’ buddies laughing at her, could see the glimmer of needles as they shot up to her pain. It was too much.

She ran.

Out the house, through the gate, down the street, toward the park. Josie roughly brushed the tears from her cheeks, bowing her head to hide her red, swollen eyes from the people she passed. Her face was set in a pained grimace, each step she took sent tendrils of agony snaking through her battered body. She suspected she had a few fractured ribs this time and her left wrist felt sprained. Pausing to lean against a tree, she removed the socks from her feet, thinking of her shoes left on the floor of her room. It looked like she would have to go barefoot today, though her baggy cargo pants would hopefully hide the fact from others. She found a drinking fountain in the park and washed her face with the cool water. How could she go back to that tonight? Tears threatened to overwhelm her again, so she pushed the thought to the back of her mind where it belonged. She had nowhere else to go.

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