Wind was beating against the aluminum siding of their manufactured home. The storm seemed to reflect the turmoil inside the house. There were three people in the house, two terrified and one drunk. Hank was reaching his breaking point. One beer relaxed him, three made him slightly obnoxious, but he was on his sixth. It was an unwritten house rule to avoid him at all costs when he's on his sixth beer, like always put the lid on the toilet seat down, or take your plate into the kitchen after dinner. But unlike these rules, if this rule is broken it can have dire consequences. He leaned back in his lounge chair, in boxers and an undershirt. His beer belly was sticking out from his undershirt. His brown hair was surprisingly neat and seemed out of place along with the rest of his body. .
It was nine o"clock. At least Madeline was safe. It was her bedtime, and she wouldn't be hurt once she was in the comforts of her own bed. Amber was still up, and she had at least another three hours till safety. Amber had dark brown hair that went down to her shoulders. Her body was perfectly proportioned, and her face flawless. She was a perfect example of a trophy wife. Perhaps in another life she might have married a successful man. Amber began to think back, how it all started. They went from love to fear seemingly overnight. She can remember the very first time he hit her. Amber didn't blame him either, because she believed it to be her fault. It was 1987 and they had just graduated from Lincoln Memorial High School. It was the night she found out she was pregnant. Hank told her it was a mistake and to just have an abortion, but a man could never understand what it feels like to have a child growing inside of you and knowingly kill it. When she said no he hit her, just once, and then started to cry. She snapped out of her train of thought as he got up. They were watching T.V. together, however it was not the T.
