Excerpt from "Break In"

Man: He leans forward, preparing for this story. She would be the first to hear it. He nearly collapsed with hope, she was the only one who would really listen; the only one who could really try to understand.
I suppose this story should begin with a boy. His name was lost many years ago, and so he shall just be “the boy”. This boy was not very much to look at, very plain really. But, this boy was not like many other boys; he was very quiet as a child and talked very rarely. He was extremely self-sufficient, he could make his own meals at the age of seven, regulated his bedtime on school nights, and watched his diet to make sure he was getting enough vegetables. He lived in a medium-sized house in a good neighborhood, but his mother worked quite a bit and his father never seemed to be home.
When he was eight-years-old, his father came home late. His mother was in the living room and he was in his bed. He awoke when the front door closed, he was a very light sleeper you see. In fact, his mother used to say that even when he was asleep he was listening. He heard his father walk into the living room, and he heard him put his keys on the counter.
He paused, and looked at the girl. She was listening intently, her eyes closed and her mouth curved in a slight frown of concentration.
And, this boy heard every word his father said to his mother when he was in the living room. His father was very clearly drunk, his voice was nearly undecipherable. “What are you doing up?” He asked. She told him she was watching late night television, just like she always did. “You’ve been out with the boys, haven’t you? Your cheating on me you bitch.” She told him that she didn’t know what he was talking about, she’d gone straight home after work. “No, you’ve been with every man under the sun you slut. You’re never happy, you ungrateful bitch.” His words stung her, and she was so carefully denying every claim. “No dear,” this and “That’s not true, hun,” that. He listened to every word.
And then he was screaming. Yelling and ranting about her. He cursed at her and the boy listened to every vulgar word. He listened to how his father tossed them around in his screams as if it were nothing. He spit insults at her like she were some worthless animal. He talked to her like she was just a rag doll. Finally, she told him to be quiet. It was so simple. “Be quiet, please.” She’d said to him.
He stopped yelling, and the boy could see his face turning indigo with rage. He imagined him pointing a tense, quivering finger at her. “You bitch.” He said. “Don’t you ever tell me what to do in my own house. Don’t you ever, ever, tell me when I can speak. You think I pay for this house for my image? No, I do this for our family.” And then, the boy forced himself to prick his ears for this one, he didn’t want to miss a word, his father spit out in a near whisper, “You ungrateful bitch.”
The man looked at her, she was frowning even deeper. Her eyes were still closed tight, almost as if she were afraid to open them. He continued.

Girl: His voice washed over her like satin, enveloping me in a curtain. She was the boy, wrapped in his blankets and listening even though he knew he shouldn’t. She was the boy who imagined the reddened face of his face pointing his tense finger at his mother, huddled on the couch in fear.
He hit her then. He slapped her and the boy heard the impact, the sound of his hand so hard against her face. He tried to stop listening but his ears echoed the sound. He saw his father’s handprint on her face in his mind’s eye and it made him tremble with rage; it made him tremble with fear. She was silent even though he knew that it had hurt her. He hit her again. He was yelling once more, stinging her with his voice. "How do you like that? Huh? You gonna tell me what to do again? Huh?"
She stayed silent despite the occasional gasp of pain when he hit her hard enough. He’d stopped yelling and was just smacking now, hitting and punching. He listened to his father’s hand hit her, again and again. Finally he heard her gasp out a series of breathy words.
"What did you say?" He demanded.
"Get out!" She screamed. She screamed it so loud that the boy shook in his bed, but he smiled. He let her voice ring in his ears. Her scream drowned out every smack, every impact on her skin. "Get out of here you drunk! You don’t do anything for us! I hate you!"
His father said nothing, for once. He didn’t hit her. He just stood. The boy heard his feet shuffle against the carpet. The door opened and closed, slamming shut behind him. The boy cringed at the sound.