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Him....
The four lines on your arms deepen as the days go by. The smell of vodka and cigarettes sweep into your 8 year old nose. As he is mentally cutting into your soul. The kids at school think your gross cuz you tell them its dirt, not bruising, so you dont get in trouble. He says if you tell anyone he'll hurt you, you dont know what to do. You come home from school, he's mad and breaking things. Then you see the gun, you try to run, and it goes off. Then he's on the ground.

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