Every night at 8 30pm, the door is locked behind me. I spring up onto the top bunk and organise my books and papers. He picks up a DVD and slots it into the TV. He watches two films – each one as violent as the last. Whenever a woman has her face punched, or her throat slit, or her abdomen sliced open he shouts, “Yeahhh bitch. Take that ya cunt”. He sits forward in his seat, alert and grinning. “Stupid cow. Fat bitch”.

I fall asleep to the sounds of split flesh…screams…lacerations…laughter. I dream that I am holding my wrists out in front of me. Each once has been slashed with the shape of a cross.