City Of Refuge

My eyes were sore and half closed from all the crying. The thin, white bed sheets that were pulled over my head made it even harder for me to breathe. Suffocation didn’t seem like such a bad idea at this point, but something told me I wouldn’t have the strength to do that to myself after the beating I’d just received from my crazy, psychotic boyfriend. It wouldn’t end. Downstairs, my father screamed from the terrible pain of a broken heart that I so terribly understood. I didn’t grow up in a religious household. Hell, I wasn’t even sure if God really existed, but in that moment, the only thing I felt powerful enough to do was rip the sheets off my trembling, sweaty body, sit upright on my knees, press my hands together, and pray. Nobody ever asked if I was okay. Not my split parents, not my preoccupied brother, not my so-called friends, and definitely not Tyler. The only person who could possibly understand me was God. If he’d created miracles for so many other people, why couldn’t he create one for me?

“Dear God, I…” I didn’t know where to start. It was stupid, starting my prayer to God off like I was writing a letter. How could I possibly talk to Him when I’d never been to church in my whole life? Then again, I felt like I had no other choice and no one else to talk to.

Suddenly, as if God had already heard my thoughts before I spoke them aloud, I found my answer. I had to run.

“Amen.”