painkillers. - H.S ✔

work

"Why are you leaving us Mar?" Amara asked, digging her hands into the pockets of her red jacket. And looking up at me, awaiting my answer.

"I can't do this anymore, Amara,"

"He's the one. They can't take him away from me." Amara shook her head at me, sighing and avoiding my gaze. She grabbed ahold of my arm and rolled my sleeve up, exposing the bruised skin.

"You can't look into my eyes and tell me that he's good for you." And with that, Amara walked away, heading back towards our parent's house.

-
My fingers brushed along the part of my arm where the bruises had been. I could still feel Amara's grip on my arm, I could still see her walking back home.

We had stopped talking about half-an-hour ago. We talked about her upcoming wedding. Which was coming in May. I was her Maid of Honor. She was marrying her friend since childhood, Joshua. They were very happy together and I loved that. Joshua could provide for any future children they had, he treated her like a Queen. I hadn't been particularly close with Josh, I'd met him before and I guess we were friends. Amara had always been best friends with him.

Amara didn't ask any more about Trent, I let her ramble on about wedding plans and how she was excited to start a new chapter in her life. Mid-way through her talk of who should sit where, I glanced over at the time on the rusty old stove.

5:13

Trent would be home soon. I told Amara that I loved her and assured her that I would be there at the wedding. She pointed out that Trent was not allowed to come and hung up.

Sometimes, at 3:00 am when my mind wanders, I regret pushing my family away. But they never liked anyone that I brought home, I would end up alone if I went by their rules. And I was complete, utterly terrified of that.

-
Trent came home at 5:30, he didn't give me a kiss on the cheek when he walked into the kitchen or try to cover me in the motor grease like he usually did. Instead, he threw his keys onto the marble counters and grabbed ahold of my upper arm. His fingers dug into my skin as he pulled me down the hall, murmuring angry words under his breath.

This happened quite often, his job was more frustrating than it seemed so he'd come home. And-well, you know. I knew tomorrow morning, my streak of no bruises or cuts would come to an end as his fingerprints would bury themselves in my skin for the next few days, like a tattoo-a reminder.

"Are you okay?" I tried my best to calm him down, to avoid what came next.

"No! Shut the fuck up!" I closed my eyes, preparing for the stinging that would creep up the side of my face. I was his dummy, he would hit when he became angry, he would abuse when he felt like it. And I couldn't leave. I couldn't bring myself to.

I fell into the dresser, pulling myself up and regaining my balance. I didn't cry, because he became angrier when I cried. Because he felt bad, and he felt guilty. So he pinned his guilt on me. I bit my quivering bottom lip and looked away from him. The bed squeaked as he fell onto it. I could see his head in his hands through the mirror above the dresser.

"I-I'll just leave then." I slowly walked to the door, taking one last glance at the broken man behind me and leaving the room.

I missed the man that I'd fallen in love with. The one that would hug me and kiss me, the one that would take me out to dinner whenever he felt like it. I walked into the bathroom. A red mark was visible on my cheek and a stinging sensation still rested. I ran the sink, and I shakingly opened the cabinet, pulling out the painkiller bottle.

My shaking fingers fumbled around the medicine bottle, I pulled on it until it popped open the pills flew everywhere. I sobbed to myself. Why did things have to be like this?

I tried to leave. Believe me, I tried. But something in my mind would always bring me back to the good times. I would turn my car around and beg at his feet to forgive me. I was pathetic. I deserved to be hit.

He promised that he didn't mean it when he yelled or when he hit me. But why did it feel like he did?

-
American hotline for domestic abuse:1-800-799-SAFE (7233).

Website link for more information and numbers:
http://www.thehotline.org

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