Now that the warm words of the women and children are behind me I grow cold with anticipation, or apathy. It was almost hard to imagine now, having a friend. I couldn't remember the last time I felt the touch of another person that was immediately followed by pain.
I take the long way home, as usual. It's my greatest reprieve. Every step and act of silent defiance. I don't remember how it started exactly, but it feels like my life has always been this way, that my past is just a dream. He was like the sun shining joy down upon me, a naive little girl who just walked into town. I wonder if he was waiting for me, someone to prey upon. He took me away, far away from the small life I had in the village, out into the wide uncaring world; but it was okay because he was there to protect me.
To my right is a small red light district. Girls desperate to give themselves away wearing almost nothing at all. The make up is the worst. Worse than their faces would be. It makes them look like dolls that only exist at the convenience of others, like tissues; small and delicate, and tossed away after only a single breath.
"Hello, Ashley!" The baker smiles at me, or at least he always has before. I keep my head down so he doesn't see my shame. I had such dreams of becoming a baker, or maybe it was something else.
"Hi." I reply softly. I hate myself for holding him at arms reach. He's done nothing but show me kindness, the type of kindness so foreign to me. I've been beaten down and berated for so long I hardly feel like myself anymore. I just feel blank.
"Having a bad day? Here, this will make it better." He says as he hands me a small pastry.
"Thank you." I take a bite but don't even taste it. It's hard to imagine now, having a friend.
He waves at me as I walk away. I want him to help. I want anyone to help but I pushed them all away. Maybe I'm really afraid of losing so many years of life. If everything just went back to how it was at the beginning, it'd all be worth it. But it won't. It never was anything but a lie, I see that now.
My steps slow as I approach the house that contains all my fear, fear of facing my future and losing my past. The building reminds me of something from the village where I grew up, or a wolf's den, I can't remember. I'm standing at the crossroad of my life and feel as though it's someone else's problem, someone else's life.
I push the door open while holding back my anticipation. It's the same walls, the same ceiling, the same floors, but not the same me. I float to the kitchen where he forced me to create my own sin. A sin that required his endless, benevolent correction. These walls entombed me long enough that they became shadows at the edge of my eyes. And stashed away in one of the drawers, a freedom I was too fearful to behold. I grasp the knife with renewed purpose. The dull blade was worn down from repeated abuse, it was like a sister. One that I now needed to carve out a path to a new world. A world without him. I made my way upstairs while he remained in the living room, focusing on everything that was more important than me. I must not arise his curiosity, or his stare; to be seen is to be penetrated.
There I came upon the room. I refused to call it my room. It was only where I was kept, for convenience. I had little that belonged to me, it felt like a curse for so long but was now a blessing. I place the knife by the table at the door and pull open the small dresser door. My few pieces of clothes easily fit into a small bag, along with the necklace my mother gave me. I can still smile when I hold it, even if I don't deserve to.
"Packing up, are you?"
I spin around as if on wheels; as if on top of a music box. The door is blocked and I'm trapped again, but now I no longer belong to him. I belong to no one. He walks up and rips the hood off my head. I look at the ground but he crouches down and lifts my head up. Now his face was on a level with mine, I almost didn't recognize him. Long gone were the days of cute gifts with little bows tied upon them and knowing winks the inevitably led to a room full of heated passion. Now he was a formless beast, an enemy. My enemy. His hands that so easily brought me to heaven in the past were now chains pulling me to hell.
"Where do you think you're going." He says with a devilish grin.
"I'm leaving." My voice cracks as if I'm about to cry, I guess old habits die hard.
"Not in my clothes you're not. Strip." I take my clothes off as he's made me do so many times before. What I feel is blankness. What I feel is that I mustn't feel. This is the flesh he takes from me, the lower half of this body is what he fucks. I'm not involved.
"Now, get back downstairs and make me dinner, whore. You're not going anywhere. No one wants a worthless slut like you anyway."
I don't move. For once I stand my ground.
"Oof." I groan as his fist slams into my stomach. His palm easily reaches around my throat and lifts my back up.
"You're going to go downstairs and make dinner, or my hand might just slip and break that little neck of yours."
I glance to my side and see the knife on the table. My last hope. I grab the knife and drive it deep into his thigh.
"Ahh! You bitch!"
He drops me and I roll on the floor coughing. I forget my belongings and lunge for the door. As I breach the threshold I feel a punch to my side, a punch harder than any before. It's as if he's held all his rage in for just this moment.
I plummet down the stairs and land in a heap on the wet ground. The exit is so near that I can smell the baker's fresh loaves of bread, but they smell metallic. I try to stand up but flop back down as all the strength leaves my legs, my will sucked from my veins. I look down and see the culprit, my sister stuck through my side.
"I didn't want to do that but you left me no choice, I had to defend myself." His footsteps echo around the room like a heart beat, steady and relentless.
Again I make for the door but I can't even crawl. Even my arms have betrayed me.
"You did this to yourself."
His hand once again slides around my neck one last time. He brings me to eye level. I wish more than anything that his face wasn't the last thing I saw. My body is cold, colder even than the nights I cried alone with his body pressed upon me. The dark room fades but his eyes still shine with rage. I spit directly onto his face and smile. I'm alive in my skin, if only for a moment. He can't control me any longer. I'm free for the first time in years as the vigorous hand of death pulls me into the darkness.