Every step he takes towards me, I take two steps back
But it’s not long until my back’s against the wall,
And I have nowhere to go.
His breath reeks of alcohol
His hands are running up my body,
Up to my face and my hair.
I shove his hands away from my hair, sickened at the slimy feel of him against my skin.
I’ve kept it short, and it’s the only part of me that is left,
Untouched,
By the filth of him.
The only thing that is still mine.
I see his fist rushing toward me,
And I swing my head
So his fist crashes loudly, painfully, into the wall.
He howls.
Blows land on my cheeks, my shoulders, my jaw, my arm.
I fall to the ground,
Like a helpless rag doll,
Waiting for someone to pick me up.
He’s there, on top of me, yanking my hair, hands swinging on my body.
“Please. Stop. I’m sorry. Stop, please!” I beg, at his mercy once again.
I’m surprised when he does.
“If you did what I tell you, I wouldn’t have to beat you like this. If you would have just let me touch you,  
It wouldn’t have come to this. I love you, baby. You know I do. I would never let anything happen to you.  
You know I won’t,” he croons into my ear.
As his calloused hands caress my swollen jaw, and his sweet, toxic words pierce my heart, I think back to  
The early days of stolen kisses,
And gentle love, and I am once again reminded of the man I fell in love with.
The one who stood on the altar, who swore to love and cherish me, to never let me go,
And I believe him.