We sit on the table for dinner time. While waiting for my plate I look around the four very white walls that surround me, they're so white they should look like they belong in a dentist's clinic, but they don't feel like one, instead they feel more like they belong in a run down interrogation room, the entire room feels like it's been bleached from sitting in the sun for too long, even my dad's clothes. It's too bright in here. Besides, I feel safe when I go to the dentist, the low ceiling makes me feel cozy and the comfortable chair helps me relax, unlike here, the hard seat of the chair makes me uncomfortable no matter what I try. The food arrives at the table and my step-mother sits down to feed me while my dad sits across the small table doing something else. I take each spoonful, scraping my teeth on the metal with every bite until I'm satisfied. There's still food in my plate. My step-mother insists that I eat all that remains in the plate, but I don't comply. She starts by encouraging me to eat more, then proceeds to say how strong I'll grow if I eat more, then threatens to beat me if I don't eat more, then shoves the spoon in my mouth. My dad yells at her, he tells her that I'm full, that I don't want to eat anymore. They start fighting. The anger in their rants and body language keep me from understanding what's happening, I'm panicking. My dad tries to rip off the engagement ring in her hand. He tells me to pick up my bag, I do so. They still yell at each other on our way out. The car's tires look bad, he hit the sidewalk while trying to park some time ago.