I.
I remember the first time he hit me: the way his cold hand burned my cheek.
How he grabbed me by the throat and told me I was a worthless piece of shit.
The way the back of my head felt like it was on fire when he pulled it so hard I was crying from pain.
How the concrete floor was covered in drops of my blood.
I remember him looking at me and for a second I thought I saw kindness cross his eyes but his hands around my neck again proved otherwise.
II.
I remember when he was gone: how even though he wasn'tĀ here I could still hear his ugly words being whispered in my ear.
I rememberĀ waking up in the middle of the night shaking from fear that he would show up again,Ā wielding his pocket knife and empty beer bottle.
I remember watching the scars on my skin from him fade away, but wondering why the emotional scars wouldnāt leave.
I stillĀ remember how it felt to have every human touchĀ feel likeĀ acid touching my skin.
III.
I remember the last time he hit me: I didnāt cry anymore, I just bit my cheek until I could taste nothing but blood.
Every slap, punch, and kickĀ felt like a routine: I laid there while he did what he wanted.
My skin got tough from his touch, my hair stopped growing in the places heĀ kept pulling, the floor was a bloody painting of our past together.
I stopped searching for the kindness in his eyes long ago, bruises were the onlyĀ currency of love heĀ seemed to be willing to give.
He made it so Iāll never forget what it feels like to have his hands strangling me until Iām purple-faced and clawing at the air in front of me.
He may be gone, but the memories arenāt.
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