I sat there until most of the night had passed. Standing up, I cracked my neck and went for their bedroom. Through the entrance and the corridors, bypassing my room, I soon stood before their door.
Opening it, I saw her still awake and, again, my father's hands that were around her, even in her shirt. A sudden disgust hit me, and I wanted to turn and leave, but my body disobeyed as I came closer, crouching before her just to watch.
Her eyes looked beautiful in the moonlight, glittering. And I really liked this deep blue the more I saw it.
The next moment, she stopped to look at me, and I was left irritated, but her eyes displayed joy, which I had only seen when she clutched that stuffed cat she had fished out of the trash container.
Her hand moved in my direction, and I suppressed the impulse to catch it in my own. I watched her stroking something invisibly; her actions that of stroking a cat.
