I’m on my side curled in on myself. I don’t understand why he gets like this. All that exists is pain no matter how I lay. I feel his hand in my hair. He pulls until I am on my feet, but he maintains his hold. He has to, because my legs will not hold me up. He keeps screaming at me to look at him, but I’m still trying to get my eyes open. Can’t he see that? If this is my end, I think to myself, then I want to be able to look into his eyes as the light fades from my own. Finally, my right eye opens half way. The pain is absolutely excruciating, but I need to see him. My eyes do not betray me. There he is—my husband, the father of my children, and the man I have loved for most of my life. That wickedly handsome smile spreads across his face. It was the smile I fell in love with, but the smile I love to hate now. It is full of evil. I know how much he enjoys seeing me bleed. Knowing he caused the blood to spill from my wounds increases his satisfaction. I know this for certain because he has told me so. I have stopped fighting back. It only makes things worse.
