Bruises

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Courage was not the absence of fear, but the triumph over it. The brave man is not he who does not feel afraid, but he who conquers that fear.

•nelson mandela•

Conquering my fear of that bathroom was impossible. I couldn't do it; my brain couldn't begin to even see that possibility. It screamed at me, told me white lies and black lies, lies that burned my mind with fear and corroded my bravery from within.

Yet it also screamed the truth about him.

The things that happened in that bathtub will never leave me, never let me Rest In Peace or die happily.

I couldn't die again.

The bruises were just purple, a month after I left home for good, never to look back. Never to see the harsh bathroom that haunted my days, my nights and my twilight hours. The bruises had started out an ugly greenish brown, the colour of a forest swamp that sucks you into its depths without a trace. But they were now a bluish purple, the colour of a strangled face.

The metal taps had been cold and merciless across my face, burning hot with the presence of the scalding water flowing inside of it. I can still feel the pressure of the bony hands around my neck, pressing my soft cheek against the tap and listening to my screams. The scalding water had run over my naked body, burning and making me writhe in pain.

Then came the punches, pounding against me one after the other or two at a time, the air smelling of sweat and alcohol as he breathed heavily down my bruised neck.

I had to get up and get dressed, I had to cover my bruises. I had to cover my burns, the finger marks on my skin, the hurt on my face. But I couldn't get the pain, the loss, the desperation from my eyes; it was permanent, and no wonderful angelic soul could remove the hopelessness I felt, the helplessness I feel.

The bathtub was the worst, but he used everything; the toilet to nearly drown me and the remaining scraps of my dignity; the shower to push my against the slippery tiles and watch me drop to the floor in a sobbing bloody mess.

But that was my past.

Yet it is also the present, the future; those memories will be branded across my forehead, my eyes will never regain that glint, that spark, and my heart will be forever broken, forever lost and empty and unloving.

My mind has changed. My thinking has changed, and the horrible thoughts that went through my mind during the abuse changed from being deprived of hope to being full of revenge; I was determined to believe that I would get my revenge, my chance.

I just had to brave him, and the nightmares that he brought along.

_

Who is he? What will she do? Comment your answers!

Be ready for the next chapter, munchkins!

until then,

_wolfbell