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WHEN I WAS YOUNGER, I learned many things from my mother. She taught me simple things, like how to cook fluffy eggs on the stove, and sew the small holes worn into my jeans.
Though, most of all, she taught me to never take shit from anyone. This was what one would call an accidental lesson, nonetheless, as she never intended me to pick this up. It was something I slowly learned as I watched her make the same repetitive mistakes with her husband.
Hiding bruises with color corrector—blending a heavy concealer overtop. It would always be the same story when I asked about her newest purple splotch: Dad made a mistake but it wouldn't happen again. He made those promises to her every time. . . but he did very little to keep them.
I never understood why she stayed, even after the bruises faded; because a new set of colors would appear on her limbs only a few days later, like a used paint pallet.
She was scared of being alone, just like any reasonable person. The difference between her and the average human was that she would rather take physical torture, over being on her own. As time passed, I convinced myself of one certainty. I would never be like her.
As much as a girl wished to be her mom, most were nothing like them, as they had chosen the path to be least like their mother. At many points throughout my life, I found myself doing just this. I was currently taking it to the extreme, doing the opposite of what I knew her patterns to be.
I was fighting, against a man.
He was too powerful. Not a fair match for me at all, but I still fought to push him away. My internal dialogue was screaming from rooftops to be more tough, telling me to hold on longer as the man threw me back against the wall.
I peeled my winded body from it, forcing myself at him before he could fully come in on me. I threw my fist into his nose when he was close enough, the action causing him to step back and protect his face. As he briefly lost his footing, I hurried to the ground for my knife. Once taking hold of it, I was stopped as his hands wrapped around my untied hair. His fingers tangled in my strands, pulling forcefully to raise me up.
