Chapter eight
He was struggling to breathe. His shirt collar was digging into his wind wipe. His view was obscured by the rain beating into his eyes every time he looked up to gather his bearings. "What do you think you're doing running off you little shit?" Hissed the deep voice from behind him.
He was being dragged backwards; he could feel the roughness of the concrete against his bare skin. "Please, I won't do it again. I promise. Please." He pleaded as tears swelled in his eyes.
"Yeah I know you won't. I'll make sure of that myself."
That was the last thing he remembered before arriving back home. His head was spinning and something was running down his face. He watched the floor as the red droplets of blood fell from his face and splatted on the carpet. Groaning, he picked himself up from the ground and limped up the tattered and stained stairs to his mother's bedroom. He stopped dead in his tracks, eyes wide and mouth open.
"Mummy?"