.0029
I wake suddenly, my breath coming in pants heaving through my open mouth. I will myself to calm down, to stay silent and still, as I begin to hear his soft breathing over my pounding heart. My back is facing him, but I know he is closer than I am comfortable. I no longer feel comfortable around him. I turn slowly around and freeze.
His eyes are wide and staring straight at me - right through me. His mouth curls up into a smirk and I cower into the comforters. His hand snakes under and caresses my thigh. He refuses to let me sleep under my own blanket, even though I always end up shivering and curled into a ball under his thin sheet. I'm frightened, not knowing what he will do. His gentle fingers turn into sharp claws and he pinches me hard in my inner thigh.
That's what you get for waking me up, bitch, he says mockingly. He doesn't let go and I bite my lip to stop from crying out. If I do, he'll only do it harder. He lets go and rolls over, leaving me with tears of pain brimming in my eyes. I know it will bruise, but I don't dare say anything. I have similar bruises marring my thighs and torso, some from waking him up accidentally - he is a light sleeper - and some from just making him angry. He never touches my head or neck because then people will be able to see.
I turn my back to him again and silently let the tears fall. I know I can't fall asleep again and the night only brings hate and confusion, only to be washed away in the bright morning sun.
---
He is the perfect boyfriend in front of everyone else. He showers me with presents and attention and he says exactly the right thing to make me feel like a queen. Before we lived together, I would twitter and preen like an exotic bird under his gaze. I felt good, I felt desirable, I felt sexy. I could hardly understand my luck of landing such a good looking man.
He told me that my friends were jealous of me. They wanted him for themselves and, like the perfect doll I am, I let myself believe him. I let them fall away - I gave them up for my boyfriend. My last sight of them was as I lifted the last box to move out of their safety into my hell. I could feel their disappointed eyes on my back, but I didn't care. I had my beautiful boy who loved me and cared about me.
It turns out I was wrong.
---
I slip out of the bed, trying to be as quiet and stealthy as possible. His loud snores mask my uneven gait. I am limping from the pain shooting up my leg. He had come home drunk from a night out with his friends and decided that the apartment was too messy. He beat me bloody, this time on my face where people can see, and then fell asleep. I pull two heavy suitcases out from under the bed, already filled with clothes. I left the bottles in the bathroom - he would notice immediately if they were gone. I take the cellphone he gave me out of my purse and place it lightly on the table beside his head.
I give him one last look and slip as gracefully as I could out of the apartment. I hail a cab and ask for the hospital. The driver gives me a sympathetic look, but says nothing. I'm glad he's not talkative as I watch the night fly by. I pay him more than he deserves - money taken from the man I just left - and limp my way into the hospital. It is quiet and white. The receptionist looks sleepy, but her eyes widen at the sight of me. I know I look disgusting - all caked blood and bruises.
My boyfriend just beat the shit out of me, I say faintly. She presses a button and I am whisked away to heaven.
His eyes are wide and staring straight at me - right through me. His mouth curls up into a smirk and I cower into the comforters. His hand snakes under and caresses my thigh. He refuses to let me sleep under my own blanket, even though I always end up shivering and curled into a ball under his thin sheet. I'm frightened, not knowing what he will do. His gentle fingers turn into sharp claws and he pinches me hard in my inner thigh.
That's what you get for waking me up, bitch, he says mockingly. He doesn't let go and I bite my lip to stop from crying out. If I do, he'll only do it harder. He lets go and rolls over, leaving me with tears of pain brimming in my eyes. I know it will bruise, but I don't dare say anything. I have similar bruises marring my thighs and torso, some from waking him up accidentally - he is a light sleeper - and some from just making him angry. He never touches my head or neck because then people will be able to see.
I turn my back to him again and silently let the tears fall. I know I can't fall asleep again and the night only brings hate and confusion, only to be washed away in the bright morning sun.
---
He is the perfect boyfriend in front of everyone else. He showers me with presents and attention and he says exactly the right thing to make me feel like a queen. Before we lived together, I would twitter and preen like an exotic bird under his gaze. I felt good, I felt desirable, I felt sexy. I could hardly understand my luck of landing such a good looking man.
He told me that my friends were jealous of me. They wanted him for themselves and, like the perfect doll I am, I let myself believe him. I let them fall away - I gave them up for my boyfriend. My last sight of them was as I lifted the last box to move out of their safety into my hell. I could feel their disappointed eyes on my back, but I didn't care. I had my beautiful boy who loved me and cared about me.
It turns out I was wrong.
---
I slip out of the bed, trying to be as quiet and stealthy as possible. His loud snores mask my uneven gait. I am limping from the pain shooting up my leg. He had come home drunk from a night out with his friends and decided that the apartment was too messy. He beat me bloody, this time on my face where people can see, and then fell asleep. I pull two heavy suitcases out from under the bed, already filled with clothes. I left the bottles in the bathroom - he would notice immediately if they were gone. I take the cellphone he gave me out of my purse and place it lightly on the table beside his head.
I give him one last look and slip as gracefully as I could out of the apartment. I hail a cab and ask for the hospital. The driver gives me a sympathetic look, but says nothing. I'm glad he's not talkative as I watch the night fly by. I pay him more than he deserves - money taken from the man I just left - and limp my way into the hospital. It is quiet and white. The receptionist looks sleepy, but her eyes widen at the sight of me. I know I look disgusting - all caked blood and bruises.
My boyfriend just beat the shit out of me, I say faintly. She presses a button and I am whisked away to heaven.