Then she came home.

She came home, she saw the bruises on my arms.

She came home and cayght every flinch, every inflection of my voice.

Every time I apologized, she caught it.

 

Sweetheart, you can't go home tonight.

Why not?

Because I love you.

(I'd heard that one before)

I don't want you to get hurt.

I'll be hurt worse if I don't come home.

Stay. Please.

I can't.

 

That night, I got tired of saying no.

I didn't want to be beaten again.

That night I laid there.

I took it.

That night in the bedroom, I called her.

 

She picked me up.

She took me away.

Away from him.

Away from the pain.

Held me, broken, in her arms that night.

Why are you doing this?

Because I love you.

 

Crying, I looked into eyes that had seen my suffering.

She stroked my hair, and I touched her hand.

I reached up, I kissed her.

Why?

Because I love you.