He Should Be The One To Die,

My Problem Might Be That Even If I Did Go Home, I Wouldn’t Belong There, Among People Who Give Without Thinking And Care Without Trying.

A Sob Racks My Body Again, And He Wraps His Arms Around Me So Tightly I Find It Difficult To Breathe, But It Doesn't Matter. My Dignified Weeping Gives Way To Full-on Ugliness, My Mouth Open And My Face Contorted And Sounds Like A Dying Animal Coming From My Throat. If This Continues I Will Break Apart, And Maybe That Would Be Better, Maybe It Would Be Better To Shatter And Bear Nothing.

He Leans His Face Close To Mine And Wraps His Fingers Around My Chin. His Hand Smells Like Metal. When Was The Last Time He Held A Gun, Or A Knife?

Since He Saved Me From The Attack, I Have Associated His Smell With Safety, So As Long As I Focus On It, I Feel Safe Now.

We Believe That Preparation Eradicates Cowardice, Which We Define As The Failure To Act In The Midst Of Fear.