‘I said eat. Come on, just a little bit,’ he yelled at Jackie. Miley listened to the sounds emanating through the walls. Jackie began choking on whatever he was feeding her. The sound of a plate slamming on the chest of drawers made her flinch. ‘I said I’d get the best for you and I let you down.’ He cried as the woman wheezed and then gasped for breath. Jackie was okay, this time. Even Miley knew that Jackie could only take in little amounts on a spoon and quite often struggled to swallow. ‘I’m so sorry, my love. Why did this have to happen to us? Why?’

Miley lay on the floor. As she listened to the chaos unfolding outside her locked door, she had a vision of her mother standing against their front door refusing to let her out. She remembered the names she’d called her as she stormed back up to her bedroom. She only hoped that one day she’d get the opportunity to apologise and go back home. She remembered the last words her mum’s boyfriend had said to her. Did her mum still love her? ‘Can I go home?’ she whispered. She didn’t have the strength to yell.

She smiled as she thought of her grandma and grandad. Maybe she could go and live with them. Grandma Emilia, whom she was partly named after. It seemed silly to shorten it to Miley the more she thought of it, but she had been a fan of Miley Cyrus since watching re-runs of the Hannah Montana series. She had so wanted to become Hannah Montana.

When she was about nine, her grandparents had taken her to a farm in Evesham to pick strawberries. She ate most of what they’d picked as they walked around and her grandma had turned and said, ‘Christina Emilia Dawson, what a mess you are!’ Just after, Grandma licked her embroidered hankie and began to wipe the stain, only making it worse. Miley began to weep as she thought of all the lip she’d given her lovely grandma and grandad. They were always so kind and loving towards her, but she’d pushed them away too. She wanted to go to Grandma’s and go strawberry picking again. She wanted to hear her grandma call her Christina Emilia again.

A wave of nausea swept through her. She wiped the sweat from her brow. ‘I need my medicine,’ she tried to yell. There was a bash on her bedroom door as he passed and went down the stairs. ‘Please,’ she called. Yelling as a cramp doubled her up, she began to shake so uncontrollably she smashed her frail wrist on the corner of the wardrobe.

He’d refused to give her the medicine she needed. He’d locked her in her room to die. ‘You’re killing me,’ Miley cried.

She lay there, thinking she might not even survive the day let alone escape her living hell. The crawling sensation under her skin returned. A little beetle emerged from the gap in the skirting board. ‘Hello,’ she said as she began to claw at her flesh, rolling on the floor in her damp clothes. Her heart pumped so fast she thought it would suddenly stop, become all used up. She had once thought that every person was born with a specific number of heartbeats. She didn’t know if it were true or not but if it were, she was fast running out of beats. She closed her eyes and imagined her heart was a ticking clock, getting faster and faster. She gasped for breath as her muscles went into a spasm. It was happening, her end was near.

She opened her mouth to speak and the moth flew in. The moth was back and it was choking her. As she caught sight of the sun-drenched window, the moths emerged through the vent, filling the room, entangling their wings in her hair, rubbing their tiny scales onto her body, scuffing her skin. She coughed and spluttered, trying hard to shift whatever was choking her. The moths were everywhere. She knew they couldn’t be real but they looked and felt real. Her fear was real. Her itchy raw skin was real but her eyes were deceiving her.