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removed the two tickets I’d hidden under my panties and in a pair of socks. I placed them halfway down the front of the panties I was wearing, pulled the belt on my jeans as tight as it would go, so they didn’t slip out, and then I fixed my long black Nirvana t-shirt over the top, in case I was caught during my escape, the tickets would have definitely increased the level of the chastisement I’d receive.
    I knelt down next to my bed and removed a brown paper bag I had placed inside a pillowcase. I couldn't risk opening it up to check if everything was there, I couldn't hazard making even that small amount of noise, stealth was needed.
    There was no reason that what I’d hidden inside shouldn’t have been there, unless my little brother had been snooping through my room again. I’d given him a pretty good dead-arm last time he’d done it with my most powerful punch to date, so I was confident he’d got the message not to mess with my belongings.
    The reason I couldn’t risk opening it, and making that little-bitty bit of noise, was because of who was currently asleep in the living room, in his tattered armchair, a can of beer in one hand, the TV remote in the other, and countless stains on his white vest.
    My dad. The enemy.
    He spent most of his time in that god-awful chair. Even more so since he’d been fired from his job at the butchers for showing up late and drunk too many times. He tended to always fall asleep at the same time every night, once he’d downed enough alcohol. That was always the highlight of my day, and my brother’s. It gave us a little respite from his insidious ways.
    He had a horrible temper. I’d never seen anyone else get as angry as he did over the smallest things. He’d throw stuff, shout horrible words right in our faces, close enough to be able to feel his spit on our skin, jab his finger in my chest when he gave orders or, as he called it, laid down the law. He’d once grabbed me by my hair and pulled me all the way down the hallway and into my bedroom before locking me in.
    I think we were the only kids on our whole block, the whole city, or possibly the whole country, that had a lock on the outside of their doors. The window in my room had a lock too, he always had the key hidden somewhere I couldn’t find it, that’s why I’d had to wait for him to go asleep to be able to sneak out, that possible route was a no go.
    The front door was always locked too, it was a prison disguised as a home, but I knew where he hid the spare key for that means of escape. I’d never risked stealing it before; I didn’t want to waste the opportunity on something that wasn’t that important. On that night, it was worth the risk, worth the possible beating I’d get for such a betrayal.
    In order to get out of our crappy neighborhood I’d dropped out of college and taken a job at a comic book store. Okay, it wasn’t anything fancy, but I didn’t have any good qualifications. Even with the low wage I got, I had to give my dad most of it, but the rest I’d been saving, hiding from his grubby liquor-smelling fingers, in my friend’s house, far away from his reach and with someone I trusted. To be fair, I trusted random strangers more than I trusted him.
    My mom had made the mistake of trusting him. She’d done so for way too long. She’d put up with the same abuse we were taking, but also his adulteress ways. He’d been fucking one of our neighbors for over six months when she found out. I’m not sure how she found out, but I am sure that was the last straw for her. She left him after that. She left us too, though.
    At first I was mad at her for doing that. My only small slice of normality and security, gone. I fell into a heavy depression because of it. I started to cut myself. Not deep, just enough to feel something different every once in awhile. Always in places I could hide with my clothes. I wasn’t allowed to show much skin anyway, one of his rules, so it was easy to conceal the