I open the door to a liquor store. I go there almost every night. Fortunately, the clerk doesn't recognize my face.
I stuff a bottle of hard vodka in my jacket, staring at the clerk, making sure he doesn't look while I try to sneak out the door. I succeed, like always.
I sit on the porch of that house, gulping down heavy clumps of vodka. This was my getaway most of the time, drinking.
I drank until I couldn't feel the bruising on my bones anymore, I drank until I was numb, until I couldn't feel myself hurt anymore.
I look throughout the night, it's dark and the porch light isn't even on. It's almost pitch dark, it would be if the streetlights weren't beaming a golden light.
I hear rustling in the bushes, but I still stare ahead, looking at that open field.
I didn't sign up for this. I think vaguely. Man, I didn't know what I was getting myself into when I joined this "relationship" I mean it was all good before. We used to love each other, instead of slamming me against the wall and choking the shit out of me, he would hold me in his arms and claim he was the luckiest guy in the world, but ever since he put his hands on me, he changed.
We both did.
Now I was scared of him. I didn't even know him. I couldn't love him, he couldn't ever love me.
Sex felt like rape. Touch felt like assault. Even hugging felt like abuse.
I couldn't ever tell anyone. The fear always creeped up my spine, the fear of him finding out and possibly even killing me. I just couldn't.
When you're stuck in a relationship like this, it's like a wall of fear that's made out of steel and it's there whenever you try or feel the urge to tell someone. It stops you.
I drop the empty vodka bottle and stumble on the porch, walking into the dark house. I see he must've turned off the lights after I left out. I don't even think, I find the couch and flop down on it. I'm passed out.
