“Cooking my dinner like a good little bitch,” he said. It was true; I was stooped over the stove. My mother certainly never cooked and Ian had a t...ndency to get violent if he didn’t have a meal on the table after work. I said nothing, it was usually best to unless he actually asked a direct question.“What is it?” he asked, stepping closer. The kitchen was far from large and most of the space was taken up by a small dining table so a little closer meant he was almost breathing down my. According the calendar, her last period had ended a week previously. It would be another week before things were truly dangerous. Of course that didn’t matter, because they weren’t going to do that again. She needed to make him see that.Monday, he didn’t speak to her or look at her. It stayed that way for the rest of the week, at school. He didn’t cut music. He couldn’t do that. But he could stand there, mute.Mindy noticed, of course. Her seasoned eyes saw the hurt, the anger, the .... More

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