WHAT I HEARD

In the early hours that now seem to be a time of day in which memories long forgotten by myself come to mind.
Today I remembered when my parents found a pack of cigarettes, numbies, that my older sister, they assumed but they were mine though I thought not to tell them, had stashed in the cupboard under the stairs.
When she got home later that night, my parents strapped her to a chair in the kitchen, like she said they'd done before, asked her questions. I sat listening, at the top of the stairs.
‘Where have you been?' said mother.
‘Out.’
‘Where?’
‘Just out...’
‘I said, “where,”’ said mother, the sound of a slap, my sister crying.
‘Steady on,’ said dad.
‘Where were you, as if I didn’t know,’ said mother - a slight pause - ‘And what’s that, on your neck? You slut,’ shouted, ‘Slut.’
Sister sobbing.
‘And what are these? Smoking as well as a slut.’
‘They’re not mine.’
‘Liar, you slut.’
‘They’re not mine,’ shouted sister.
Mother’s voice louder than before, ‘You’re a liar and a slut, a slut.’
Sister shouted, rising to a scream, ‘At least I’m not a bitch, you fucking frigid bitch.’
‘How dare you,’ screamed mother, slapping sister, who I could hear struggling in the chair, ‘How dare you...’ slap, scream...
Sister, ‘Fuck off,’ slap, scream.
‘Whoa, whoa, whoa,’ said dad. ‘That’s enough.’
‘Let go,’ said mother.
‘Enough,’ said my dad.
'I said let go.'
‘That’s enough...enough.’
It went quiet. Then, at the sound of the kitchen door opening, I got up from the top step, went quietly to my room, and thought about what I’d heard.