In the middle of these winter nights, I hear the creaks of your bedroom door as you open it. Your knuckles turn white as you cling onto the railing. Your eyes remain half opened and your languid body helplessly leans against the fragile wall. You make your way down the dusty, wooden stairs, and the movement of your feet is steady. From here, the lengthy hours of your day begin.
You have finally reached the first floor of the house. You flip the switch to turn on the lights. The light is the only thing that brings brightens to the room, but there's a constant twitching that annoys you. You squint your eyes and walk towards the bathroom.
You look at the mirror-reflection in front of you. There are purple bags underneath your brown eyes and fine lines above your darkened eyebrows. You rub the tips of your fingers together and come to realize how much your hands have roughened up throughout the years. So, in hopes of softening them up again, you grab your 'Ponds' moisturizer and lather it on your hands. You begin to run your comb down your long, black hair and start plucking the strands that have turned white from the roots. You're beautiful, but this statement does not bring you any form of validation as you sit and stare at the brown bruises on your neck.
Then, there is a knock on the door. Right away, it becomes apparent that he has arrived home late again. You open the door and let him inside. As he stumbles his way inside the house, he gestures you to follow him to the living room.
He is bigger than you. He is stronger than you, and his voice brings shivers across every inch of your body. At first, you hesitate… But the fear that builds inside you forces you to do what he has demanded. So, you sit beside him on the living room sofa and wait anxiously for the events that you have familiarized yourself with.
He begins by touching your neck and slowly moves the tips of his fingers across your face. It's conspicuous that his behavior is intolerable from the way your body begins to shake, but this does not stop him. With a coarse, rash voice he says your name, ''Isabelle.'' You sit there unresponsive staring blankness at the wall. You feel hopeless. You feel vulnerable and betrayed, but there is no strength that is left in you that pushes you to leave.
He begins to grope your leg, and still shaken by what has started, you silently let him. His breath smells of vodka, and the stench of his clothes suffocate you. His greasy brown hair shines underneath the living room light, and his broad shoulders hover over your head, making you feel feeble. Then, he grabs your chin and aims for a kiss, but you turn your neck. However, your refusal does not stop him. He forcibly grabs your face with his rough hands, and manages to kiss you on the corner of your lips. You push him off you, and his heavy body is brought back. This angers him, so as a result, he grabs you by your shoulders and begins to yell. I can hear your crying from upstairs as you run to the bathroom and slam the door shut.
In that very moment, silence begins to fill the house. I grab onto my blanket, with a heart full of ache, and say to myself, ''I love you.''
