Five Sentence Fiction - Bedtime

I know that with Five Sentence Fiction it is the word that is meant to be the main prompt, and not the photo, but I like to combine them, fitting one to the other. This weeks went a little dark, so I hope you don't find it too disturbing, but where flash fiction is concerned it tends to be how my tales come out. 

Peter stuffed more newspaper under his shirt to keep the worst of the bitter wind out; it worked quite well, he was glad Linda had told him about that in the shelter.

The shelter – he wished it had been, but that greasy man who tried to climb into his bed on the first night had tainted it, and now there was no way he’d go back there. Peter didn’t need more bad memories of bedtime, he’d had his fill of them as a child and why he was out here in the first place.

People said his mum must be worried sick about him, and he should go back home, but they had no idea what she’d let her string of boyfriends do to him; there was no way he was going back to that. He was safer here on the street where he could run if he needed to, and not trapped in a bedroom.