Secrets
They don't know I'm here. I'm crouched in front of the screen, twitching every time I hear a sleepy grunt or a breath from the next room. If they catch me, the bruises on my arms will be nothing compared to the welts he will raise. I have stuffed a jacket up against the door, so that the light from the monitor doesn't spill out into the hall; I don't want to take any chances. This will be my secret. Here I will tell everything about my life, and what they do to me. But not now; now I must switch off and go to bed, because the juddering, nerve-grinding tiptoe to this room has used up all my bravery.