"Where there is anger, there
is always pain underneath."
- Eckhart Tolle
"It is not the bruises on
the body that hurt. It is the
wounds of the heart and
the scars on the mind."
- Aisha Mirza
"So it's true, when all is said
and done, grief is...
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I hurt her.
I hit her.
I hurt her.
She hates me, she wants nothing to do with me.
I knew that as good as I knew how to throw my fist.
All I could hear were her soft sobs once I walkes into the house. Without a second thought, I walked to her room and sat down in front of her door. I leaned back against it and hummed so softly I'm sure no one else could even here me, but I know she can.
She use to tell me, that I was her superman. I was the man who would swoop in and save her from all the bad things going on in her life, all the abuse and drugs.
She also, use to make me promise I'd do the same for her brother. The kid had left years before she was even born, didn't even know she existed, but she knew he existed.
I found him, told him about her and somehow he got back here, just for her.
He should have taken her and ran the moment he could.
I was nothing. I was no good for her and I knew, I know, and I will always know, that I've used her. Used her for me pleasure.
Used her for what I want. Used her to always feel in charge of things in my life, she was so young that she just let me control what she did, who she was with and where she was. And I always used it to my advantage. Always kept her under my thumb. Kept her as mine for so long and refused to let her be herself, be anything that wasn't defined by me.
Turning I hear her breathing even out, but I also her her whimper, nightmares.
Feeling torn, I slowly open the door and she her tossing and turning, but asleep. Slowly, I squat down next to her bed and gently put my hand on her arm, instantly she stills and cuddles into her pillow, calming even in her sleep.
I move the hair from her face and look over her. Her shirt has risen to show off a black, painful line shaped bruise on her stomach, from the table.
She never wears long sleeves to sleep, she gets to hot, and I can vividly see the handprint, fingerprints on her arm, from me.
Sucking in a breath I back away, careful to avoid everything in her room and leave.
I walk to my room and pack a bag, I wake Juice and give him money and tell him Dream will know where to find me if she needs me and I leave. I grab my gun and tuck it between my waistband and hip and put my hood over my head and walk out the front door, back to my hell, back to my parents home.
I know going back means beatings for days, nothing but, but I deserve it. I deserve it for what I did to her. For what I've been doing since I took her.
