Life · Me · Women


I didn’t know how hard car windows were until my head was smashed against one. I thought it would break; not because I thought windows were that fragile but because he was so strong, and so angry, I really thought it would break. Its weird, I didn’t feel the pain at the time. I was waiting for him to finish. It felt like forever; a slow forever. The guards rushed to the car and tried to stop him. I stood between them and him, protecting him. I don’t know why. I smiled, with my mouth and forehead bleeding, to assure them that everything was okay. He stormed away. I walked into my mother’s kitchen, locked myself in the pantry and wept on the cold floor.

I called my married sister one continent away and told her what had happened. She didn’t seem surprised. She told me unemotionally, “yea, once the abuse gets physical, it never ends”.

He called my phone, and asked me to come up to my room. I walked up the stairs, fixing to kick him out. I could never be “that” woman. I was strong. I would leave him immediately of course.

I walked into my room soundlessly. He was sitting on my bed. He was crying. His hands were shaking. He had sorry’s on his lips. I ran to him and I apologized instead. I asked for forgiveness for making him angry. I kissed his hands. I was still bleeding. He kissed my wounds. And then he raped me.


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