Sad, sad chapter.
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It is strange.
I keep stopping myself from glancing at him.
I can feel the wet that drips off his jacket and onto my bare arm.
Seattle weather, always unpredictable somehow.
I don't feel the cold; I never have.
With everything that I've been through, I hardly feel cold from hot and hot from scalding.
Not after that one time.
That one time that my father was really, really angry.
"Isabella!" My father shouts and I look toward my door.
From what I can hear, I don't think I have enough time to lock him out.
When I see him – finally – he is holding a light bulb.
I look at him, then at it.
Why is he holding that?
I hear it as it burns his fingers and I edge closer to the wall.
He comes forward and grabs my arm.
I scream as the burn causes welts.
