Lip was ten, but he wasn’t a kid. He knew about sex, about how taxes worked, all that shit. And he also knew, that parents fought. Parents couldn’t be trusted.

You hadn’t seemed to learn that yet.

Lip pulled his blankets up over his shoulders as if the warmth could drown out the sound of shouting and hitting coming from Frank and Monica downstairs. Carl was sleeping, thankfully, and Lip was mostly just glad they weren’t sleeping in a car anymore.