Sad, sad chapter.


hjigygubkhj

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.