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“Come on baby, open
the door.”
I hugged my knees
to my chest and stared at the feeble bolt on our bedroom door,
knowing it wouldn’t hold if he tried to force his way in.
“I’m sorry baby.
Please?”
I glanced at my
wrist. Already bruises were forming; four parallel finger-shaped
marks turning a ripe shade of yellow.
“I just want to
make sure you’re ok.”
I raised my hand to
my jaw, wincing as I touched the tender skin, once more becoming
aware of the taste of blood in my mouth.
“Please baby.
Please let me in.”
I glanced at my
bedside table, at where the phone used to be. He’d removed it after
the last time, after I’d called the police.
“I love you.”
I winced at those
three words, knowing from experience exactly what they meant. He
was done begging. I had to open the door or he would start getting
angry again. I had to let him in, let him apologise as he tended to
the injuries he’d caused, or let him kick his way in and make me
bleed some more.
A tear slipped from
my eye as I climbed off the bed.
Many thanks
to Alicia, whose editing expertise never ceases to enrich my work as
much as she enriches my life
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