On my way to my bedroom I walk past your room. A pang of hurt rushes through me. I decided to go in. I walk past you bed with torn sheets and straight to your favorite doll house in the back of the room that had been destroyed. I find pieces of dolls all around it and broken furniture scattered among the remains of the doll house. I see a picture of on the bookshelf and walk over to that trying to ignore all the destroyed possessions all over the floor. When I get there I realized what the picture is of. It was of you and me the day of Christmas Eve sitting under the tree trying to guess our presents. One of my most favorite memories of the little good memories I have. “What do you think you’re doing?” He said “you know you’re not supposed to be in here!” I jump from the sudden noise. “Sorry” I say with my head bowed. “Get out.” He says. I stand there wanting to take the photo but can’t while he watch. “Did you not hear me? I said get out!” He yells. I wait just a bit longer in hope maybe he’ll turn away even if just for a split second so I can take the picture. He stomps toward me looking as if he’s going to explode. I know what comes next. He grabs me by the hair and throws me to the ground sending a huge pain soaring through my left shoulder. He begins to kick and slap until everything goes black.