The slipper was hurting far more than I’d imagined it ever could. Perhaps my memory was playing tricks but this felt much worse than the first time. I closed my eyes. Stroke number six struck hard and low, and this time the floodgates opened. I began to cry. My dad saw my shoulders shaking and paused.
“Get on with it, please,” I whimpered.
The next was right across the middle of my stinging bum. I was crying, but my dad was not easing up. He was really going for it and striking me as hard as he could. Just a second later, I closed my eyes and tried to think of something else to take my mind off it, sort of tune out of the experience until it was over. I tried to imagine myself lying on the beach, but it didn’t work so I tried picturing Pilar bent over her kitchen table.