him storming into the kitchen. He went into the fridge and picked up one of his favourite drinks and came and stood by my side. I could feel his hot breath at the side of my neck as he began his slanging match with me again.
I stood there silent.
I was becoming used to being a frozen mannequin as he hurled his daily tirade of abuse. I kept looking out of the window pretending that he was not there. I imagined that his harsh, cold and cruel words of insults that he projected towards me were just loud noises coming from the television or from outside traffic. I could feel my tears building up inside of me like a well of pain that was wanting to just pour out. But I kept swallowing my feelings and kept staring out of the window, trying not to let this impact me like many times before.