It's easier to hide sometimes. Sometimes he's angry enough to fight back, and he picks up the hammer from the back of the cabinet or grabs the piece of wood leaning up against the side of the trailer. Sometimes Cornelius hits his sister first, and that's when Tennessee grabs the weapons and swings away.
Sometimes he's just a child, though. Just a scared kid cowering in a closet, arms around his legs and mouth pressed to his knee. His breath quivers, hot tears roll down his cheeks. Cornelius calls his name. He has a broken whiskey bottle in his hand. Pussy, he calls him. Weak.
There is nothing more shameful on a man than fear.
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