After she passed the hall to the staircase she thought she had won.

It was usually there her father would call her name and her heart would sink into her stomach. Not that time. It appeared she was finally lucky. She tiptoed up the stairs to her room, her heart beating fast and her breath frantic. All she wanted was simply to lie down, close her eyes and pretend she didn't exist. With a wave of incredible relief she took the door handle of her room and quietly walked inside.

"Coming home?"

Simone froze where she stood, her eyes widening. Her hand was still on the door handle but her father shook his head.

"Come here…" he said calmly. He was sitting next to the window, arms crossed, a little smirk on his face. She knew he'd been drinking and she knew what was about to come. She didn't let go of the idea of running yet but was aware it would only make matters worse. Finally she moved, reluctantly, and made a few small steps towards him.

"Where were you?" he asked. Simone had a few seconds to go through all the excuses she had prepared. None of them seemed good enough at the moment.

"With a friend, we made a trip…" she said.

"What friend?"

"This girl, Tracy…"

"Bullshit," her father said matter-of-factly.

"Now you better start making some sense, OK? I don't have the whole evening for this."

"I told you I was with -"

Her father got up from the armchair and started approaching her.

"Go on," he prodded her. Simone took a short breath, shaking her head.

"As I was saying, I was with Tracy, we drove out of town…"

"Fine," her father said. "So you think I'm an idiot. Do you?"

Simone was silent. If she told him the truth of what she thought of him she would be dead before blinking once.

"I know where you were, you little whore."

Simone's heart sank deeper. Then she was in trouble. In bigger trouble than ever before.

"I… I wanted to tell you…"

"Shut up," her father said, already close enough for her to see her own scared face in his eyes. That was her father? The person who had actually biologically made her? A person whose genes she had? She was a direct product of that man and there was nobody in the whole world she would loathe and hate more. How was that possible? Was that intended? From nature? Or god?

"Are you really so damn stupid you think I don't know your every step? Who you are buying your weed from? Or who you are fucking with?"

He grabbed her arms and she yelped in pain. It was like being caught in giant pliers. She hoped desperately somebody in the house would hear it and help her, but she also knew that would not happen. Her father usually made sure grandma was gone and she was actually the only one who would step in. The rest just turned blind. OK, with one unlikely exception.

"You know how embarrassing it is for a father to know his daughter is fucking with the whole town? And not only that, but that… you let some… some fucking junkie retard to knock you up? And then you go to a goddamn vet to… to get rid of it? Who the fuck are you? Who the fuck are you, ha? Some scabby bitch?"

Her father's face was twisted, his eyes bulging out. He looked down at her belly then, with a look of deepest repulsion.

"You fucking whore!"

He punched her in the stomach and Simone gasped. She blacked out for a few seconds, realizing she was collapsing on the floor. She felt him kicking her but was funnily numb, like a ragdoll, and she laughed inside her head. As a ragdoll she could even survive it. When her father kicked her in the head a small firework exploded in front of her eyes. And it was beautiful. All the colours: green, yellow and red, flying over the black sky and creating most elaborate forms of flowers and animals… Just for her… She was almost sad when it was over and all she was left with was ringing silence and the smell of dusty carpet pressed against her face.

"You have a call."

"What... The fuck, not now…"

"Your mother…"

"Fuck… Alright!"

She watched her father's boots walking around her, stomping down the stairs. There were a few seconds of silence.

"It's dead!" her father bellowed.

"She must have hung up," came the answer.

"Dammit… I gotta go… gotta leave this fucking house…" her father growled.

"Watch her! She's not leaving the fucking room!"

Simone heard him slamming the door, a minute or so later followed by the sound of a car engine. Fine. So that round was over and she was still breathing. She rolled on her back and looked to the door where Hanzee was standing. She didn't expect him to be home and thinking about it - probably never before had he been in her room. He was looking down at her with that strange plain expression she could never decode.

"Get lost…" she rasped. She wasn't in the most dignified position and sort of wanted to be alone while hurting on the carpet.

Hanzee moved to the door but then stood still and turned over his shoulder. Oh, c'mon. Go… Go away…

But he didn't. He walked over her instead and stretched his arm out. And she didn't want to stay on the floor the whole night. She lifted her arm up and the simple movement caused her so much pain tears spurted into her eyes.

"Shit…" she cried while Hanzee got a hold of her arm, his own hand firm and steady, and sat her up. Simone couldn't stop herself from groaning. Dammit it hurt. It hurt so fucking much.

"I said you should go," she said. "Are you so dumb, ha? I cannot leave even if I wanted, can't fucking move."

"Do you want a doc?" he asked as if he didn't hear her. Simone snorted.

"Nah, been to the vet today, I'm good."

Simone felt blood in her mouth and nausea washed over her. She pressed both hands on her mouth and closed her eyes. Why the fuck wasn't he leaving?! He saw her on the carpet like a kicked dog, fine, but watching her vomiting was another level.

"Here…" she heard him say. She looked up. He was holding an empty bin. There wasn't much time to think about it, though, and she threw up. Hanzee left then, taking the bin with him. Simone leaned against her bed, closed her eyes and focused on not vomiting again, every draw of breath sending millions of tiny needles through her body.

"Have this."

Simone opened her eyes. Hanzee was back with a glass of water and Simone finally stopped caring. She took it and had a few small sips. It hurt to swallow but at least the disgusting taste in her throat was gone. She looked back up at him and saw him turn to leave.

"Wait…" Simone caught his sleeve, her arm dangling loosely.

"Thanks. You probably saved my life. And grandma… She really has good timing…"

It was just a split second but something in his eyes got her attention.

"She wasn't on the phone?"

He shook his head.

"You made it up? Why?" she didn't understand. Hanzee remained poker-faced.

"Is it true?" he asked, ignoring her question but looking down at her belly.

"Oh, that?" she said, running a hand over it. "Yep. There's been a little something just some hours ago."

"Why did you do it?" he asked. So he was simply curious? Hard to say when he looked so completely indifferent.

"Because I had to," she said. Unbelievable. That thing had been a secret for weeks, a secret she'd told nobody. And then she was speaking to him ?

"Can you imagine me as a mother?" she said, laughing shortly. "Taking care of a screaming baby? I don't think so."

A baby… She killed her baby. Maybe it was small, smaller than her finger nail, but it was still something hers . Something living…

"I always wanted to have a baby," she said. "When I was little I was imagining being a mother, having like two, three kids. I even had names, really nice names. I was cooking for them, dressing them… It was fun. I really enjoyed it, I guess. But I couldn't… OK, the guy was an asshole but that doesn't matter. It was just about me and the tiny thing inside me. And I just couldn't…"

Simone breathed in deeply and held her breath for a few seconds, ignoring the pain in her chest and abdomen. She looked up and met his look. Oh my god, he was really listening. He didn't leave because he wanted to know.

"I couldn't bring a baby to this house," she said quietly. "I mean… Jesus… just look around. Where to begin? With the grandpa of the year or the family business?"

Simone shifted her look, her eyes trailing the walls of her room to the window.

"Or wouldn't you agree? I mean… It was the right decision, wasn't it?"

"It was your decision," he said.

"But you understand it, don't you?"

Jesus, she realized she really cared about what he had to say. She needed him to agree. Him…

"I just…" she went on. "I guess I wanted to be responsible. For the first time ever. I just know… I know I couldn't give a good life to this kid… The life I could give… That life is shit."

She paused, searching for words.

"But now… oh my…"

She fell silent but wouldn't cry. She felt so dull, so empty and cold… Damn, she felt so cold… Lifeless…

"It's just so funny, isn't it?" she said eventually. "So funny, really… I know I would be a horrible mother, damn, the worst mother but still… it was life… it was my life …"

She stared ahead, letting all the sickness flow through her. Remembering the filthy room, the old creaking table she was laying on, the sweating man bowing above her, his eyes examining her like a piece of meat… The pain, the blood… And the emptiness… She walked in and she walked out. No big deal.

"I want my own father dead," she said. "And I am his child . Isn't this sick?"

Hanzee just kept standing there like a statue, motionless, watching her with that expressionless face. What the fuck was he thinking?

"I wanted to love him. My dad. I used to think - if I were really good - he would love me, too. But that sort of didn't work so I stopped trying. No point… It's a lot easier to just be fucking pissed all the time. When I found out I was pregnant, I wasn't… I didn't want to get rid of it. I actually wanted to keep it. Wouldn't it be nice to have my own little baby? It was a pure thing. A baby that hasn't even been born yet… is pure… Unspoiled… Innocent… Even coming from me it was good … That's why I had to do it. Even though I'd love that baby…. "

Simone's voice trailed off. The door was closed. It wasn't meant to be. Not for her.

"Or would I? Perhaps I just don't have it in me... "

Was she going to regret that decision? Even though there was no other way? Or was there? But she - a mother? Laughable. Fucking insane! No kid had a future in their house.

"There was a fire," Hanzee said. Simone almost forgot he was still in the room.

"They said it'd been an accident. But nobody liked that family. He was a brawler and she slept around. They called her the slot machine.

The smoke woke us up at night. We gathered around the fire and it glowed so strong some of us standing too close had burned faces the other day. It only stopped in the morning when all the wood was consumed. We walked through the house, not much left. We found the man, he looked like a burnt branch. His mouth was open, the fire twisted it. It looked like he'd be screaming. Then there was this burnt bed in the corner, his woman lying on it, with a child. She had her arms around the kid. They were fused into one body. The smoke killed them long before the fire. But there was nothing scary on the way they laid together. They were peaceful… "

Simone listened, her eyes fixed on his face.

"You don't decide that," he continued. "Women just have it in them. And you can still have kids. Later. If you really want it."

Simone opened her mouth slightly, her eyes roving over his face. What the fuck? But he was fucking serious, he meant it. There was comfort in those words, she could not deny that.

"Why are you telling me this?" she asked. She was pretty sure nobody else in their house had ever received such treatment from him but her. What kind of a ridiculous life had she? A mobster daughter, confessing to an Indian. But it felt so lonely sometimes. So incredibly lonely and so cold… Those weeks she'd known she was pregnant were so far the worst in her life. She couldn't tell anybody and when it was finally over there was nothing left… Just that emptiness. Numbness.

"Can you give me my bag?" she asked. "I wanna smoke one or I'm never gonna fall asleep. I feel like a cadaver."

He brought her the handbag and she rummaged through it, finally finding a crumpled joint. She couldn't work her zippo and twice it fell out of her hand before he took it and lit the joint himself.

"Great… " she said, inhaling as deep as she could. She closed her eyes, taking a few more long puffs and the weed rose up into her head like a merciful fog.

"I'm gonna have some sleep," she said.

"Do you want to stay on the floor?" Hanzee asked.

"Yeah, why not… Doesn't really matter."

She could not even lift her hand anymore, sprawled on the carpet like a shot cow. She frowned as she felt the rest of the joint being removed from her hand. She half-opened her eyes, the face of Hanzee so close to her she could see the dark pupils of his eyes.

"Ouch…" she whined as he slid his hands under her arms. She felt his arms around her, a sort of a hug for a second, the warmth and closeness of another body, another person. And she burst into tears. She wrapped her arms around him tightly, her whole body shaking with cry, her face wet with tears and she heard herself wailing but couldn't stop. And he just stayed there, holding her. When it was over she was hanging in his arms like a corpse, completely exhausted.

"Go to bed," he said and stood up with her, laying her over the matrace.

"That's nice, you're really so nice, you know…" she muttered, pulling him back as he wanted to move away. She smiled wearily and gave him a small kiss on the cheek. A kiss a little girl would give.

"Funny," she said. "I feel like doing this before…"

He watched her, then straightened up. She still held his hand and he didn't remove it from her weak clasp.

"Can I ask you something?" she said, letting a few silent seconds pass.

"Could you stay here for like a moment? I don't wanna be alone right now. Would be really sweet, you know. And you don't have to tell me a bedtime story."

She didn't wait for the answer but closed her eyes, wrapping herself in the blanket. The light went out and she heard the door close, followed by the quietest sound of a shifting chair. The chair creaked a bit and then it was still. It was a comforting silence. It was absurd, but it felt familiar. And safe.