I remember running down the stairs. Maybe I was going to fast, too noisy, had I said the wrong thing to the others? I consider now, but do not fully recall.

It was Christmas, a time for joy, family and connection. We were at a party with numerous other guests in a large semi detached house.

Pausing for a moment before walking in the room after a male voice had called for me. Curious I made my way to the source.

The smell of alcohol, the sway as he told me to 'come here'

The evil stare. I paused trusting my instincts.

'No' I said voice shaking. 'you're going to hit me'

'I won't' he laughed,

Betraying every thought of self preservation I had within me telling me to run, I stepped forward.

Soon realising the mistake I had made by trusting his word again. As he drew his fist back quickly and punched me so hard I felt my skull crack. Glancing at him as he laughed before my legs took me out the room.

That really hurt, not knowing where to go so ran the front door. Hid behind the long brown curtain and cried.

I was six years old. And that man was supposed to be my father.