I can't remember my dreams lately. I am frightened in my sleep. I tiptoe around in bed.
Sometimes I explode. He makes me.
I stop thinking about that and him and how I used to tiptoe around the world.
That house became my prison, my whole world.

Odd how something so unpleasant trapped me somehow.

I thought it would be good. It wasn't good. I wish it hadn't happened.
It makes me nervous to think about. I tap my foot very quickly when it comes to mind.

I have to get away.

I did but I didn't; not in my head.
In my head he is still upstairs, across the hall, and I have to lock that door, put a chair under the handle too, so he doesn't hurt me.
He didn't, but I always knew he would somehow.
If only I could have locked up my door, prevented that black mass of air, that stench of pathetic hate and crippling insult from infecting my entire being. A little like this old restaurant I've driven by, still reeking with the stench of tobacco from back when that was still allowed.
He's not here anymore but I can feel it. The afterglow.

After-shadow?