Keeping it Silent
an excerpt

I woke up screaming and crying. I had what is called night-terrors when I was a little girl, most likely because of the growth spurts, the doctor said. I don’t remember what I was screaming, more than likely for ‘mommy’ or ‘daddy’.
My mother came barreling into the room. “Be quiet, you little witch,” she whispered.
She closed the door, and rather than receiving a gentle hug and her fingers combing my hair, I received a quick slap across the face, which sobered me up fast enough. Tears still streaked my face by the dozens, but the red mark that now appeared upon my face stopped me from crying out.
“You’re ruining my party you little brat,” she said. “What did I say before bed?”
“T-t-to go t-t-to b-b-bed and b-be a g-g-g-good l-little g-girl,” I stuttered out, my speech worse than normal in my distressed state.
“Are you being a good little girl?” she asked almost gently.
I shook my head no, knowing that was the answer she wanted.
“Now I can’t let you get a way with being a naughty little girl, can I?” she said, sounding reasonable.
I shook my head ‘no’ again. I don’t know what I was expecting, but it wasn’t what came next. She slapped me, harder than the first time, across the face. She repeated this several more times as I cried silently, bruises undoubtedly forming. Then she banged on my arms and legs a little, before kissing me on the forehead and tucking me in.
I sat there, crying silently. I had learned my lesson. I was keeping it silent.