A door slams. She flinches. Though muffled, she knows her father's deep bark.
Her mother shouts back and glass shatters. Another door slams causing the house to vibrate. Then silence.
Lulu tiptoes to her bedroom. She climbs onto her bed and sinks into the pillows, knees tight to her chest. She picks at the woodchip paper next to her. Thick figure-of-eight-like patterns cover the walls up to the nicotine-stained ceiling but flake off easily. One of the circular shapes is now a face. An ethereal face with a sad smile.