Running

Running, running, running, through the house. A different house, and I am older now. Eighteen. I run to my room and try to slam the door shut. He Is still stronger. He pushes hard against It, and I push back. Finally he wins and the door slams open. I stumble backwards. He grabs me and throws me on the bed.

He hasn't done that In a long time. He had stopped. He only hit. She died so I felt bad for him and stayed. I thought If he only hit me It was safe to stay. This time was different. I fell on the bed on my back and he dragged me towards him. I screamed for help but knew like before no one would come to save me. I knew what was coming. I could feel It like a lump In my throat. He started to yank at my clothes, tried to take off my pants. This wasn't going to happen again. I kicked him. I kicked him hard. He stumbled back and got angrier. He lunged at me. His body was met with my kick again. I never stopped kicking. He flew against the wall. Got up and tried again this time when I kicked him he fell and flew Into a chair. He was hurt. I was stronger. I wasn't that small tattered bird anymore. I could fight. I could stop It. I got up and I ran. I ran down the stairs and out of the house. I kept running until I couldn't run anymore.

And I never went back