There was something about my face,she said, that she couldn't stand. Something about my eyes, the way I looked at her, the fact I even existed. She'd always tell me to stop looking at her. She'd always scream it. Like I might attack her. Stop looking at me, she'd scream. You just stop looking at me, she'd scream.<br />She put my hand in the fire once.<br />Just to see if it would burn, she said. Just to check if it was a regular hand, she said.<br />I was 6 years old then.<br />I remember because it was my birthday.