As I sat there in the dark, my eyes still burning from the tears, my cheeks still hot from the rage, I suddenly felt, well, relieved.
I’m not completely convinced that relieved is the right word, but I at least felt like this immense pain was not worth feeling for anyone. Not even the man who broke my heart, broke down my spirit, left bruises that would eventually fade and those so deep that I carried around with me always… Not even the man whose blood was on my hands.

Why, Oh why, did he leave me with no choice? I tried to leave; I tried to get help, but again and again he would come back pleading with me. He knew I couldn’t resist him; he knew I would believe his every lie, and let him once again resume slowly killing me.

Why couldn’t he keep his hands from beating me? Why couldn’t he keep his words from tearing apart every piece of hope within me? Why couldn’t he at least let me go?... He left me with no choice, but to… no choice but this one.

His blood is on my hands…