I wake up at four-thirty every morning, I quietly slip out of my room and down
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the hall. I gather my things and sneak into the bathroom where I have a quick
shower. Careful of the fresh cigar burns on my arms, and the un-healed cuts on
my back , I wash my entire body. The bruises on my legs make it difficult to lift my legs over the side of the tub. I walk back to my room and apply make up to
my most recent aquisition, a black eye. Consealer. The battered child`s best
friend. I make breakfast and leave it on the table. I grab my bag and I`m out of
the house before he ever wakes up.