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She told me she was gonna go. Been telling me that for months now. But I didn’t believe her. Sheila didn't have the guts to leave. But there she was, leaving with the truck, and the kid as well. I couldn’t blame her. I’ve been trying to get off this stuff for a long time, and sometimes I could for a month or two. But I had a cravin' for it, just like my daddy did, and you know how drugs and alcohol are- any addiction, they always seem to win. I could go down and get them right now, but I think they might be better off away, probably to her Mama’s house. She'd be safe there, safe from me, and maybe able to get some idea on what to do next. Jenny would be better off too. She’s only eight, maybe she won’t remember any of this if she’s lucky. I know I recall everything that happened with my ma and pa, even trying to break them up from time to time when he’d start swinging. She’d say she banged into a cupboard, but everybody in the town knew better. They’d look at me funny, knowing my dad was usually heading to the bar after work. Sometimes I’d have to get him, and he'd really give it to me later after I’d try to make him leave. He was an ass through and through. If it wasn’t the booze, it was drugs, or gambling, depending on his mood and how much money was in his pocket. I was fifteen when he finally left and had to help out my mom. Dad took most of the money in the can, so there wasn't much left for us. My baby sister was no help because she was only three, and all she did was cry. I helped out a few neighbors with some chores, but it didn’t pay much, and Mama wanted me to keep up with my studies. But I wasn't really good about schoolin’ either. I promised I’d never be like him, but here I am a definite repeat.
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