Heading into nine years old now, and paying attention to the world around me. This was my first truly dark year. After the sewer incident last year, I think that dear old daddio got a taste of something that he liked with both me and little K. First, he learned that I was an eternal victim. He could raise his hands to Marge, but depending on her mood and state of inebriation, she would fight back. It was glorious to watch. But me? I was a little toe-headed, insignficant creature, and when he would raise his hand to me, I had to take it. That hand could be on my face, my bum, across my back or anywhere he liked, and as long as he was careful, which he wasn't always, there were no outward signs of the abuse. He never played the don't say anything and I will buy you a present game with me. It was that if I said anything, he would kill me. That is a hell of a thing to say to a kid. But I did believe him.

The issues with little K were a bit worse, though I did not know it at the time. It was always hot in our trailer, VERY hot. And little K and I had to sleep in the same bed. So that we were comfortable, we did not have pajamas and slept naked. And we always had out nightcap before bed. It was a form of Nyquil, though I am not sure exactly what, but it was fast-acting, and put us both out fast. Except the one night that I threw up right before bed and stayed away. And found that both Dad and step-mom would creep in while we were sleeping and touch us both. This I could not help but mention at school. Soon after, we were on our way to Pennsylvania. A coincidence I am sure. But we left the trailer and everything in it, except the cat, and we were gone.