The Weekend

Saturdays were always the worst.

Bubbles of air escaped my clenched teeth and burst at the surface of the numbing, pink water. I could taste the metallic tang as it rushed from my lip and filled the pure liquid with its signature color. The bruises on my face ceased their stinging and I reminded myself to not gasp for air, no matter how much my lungs burned.

The hand clenched tightly around my unkempt hair lifted my head out of the water. I felt the sting of the bruises again for a split second before he shoved my head under once more. I caught a glimpse of my hands. They were clutching the smooth rim of the sink so hard that my knuckles had turned white. I could feel small, cold pellets hit the back of my head and neck. He was adding more ice to the sink.

He lifted my head again and I couldn’t help myself; I took one, loud, sweet breath of air. Life. I could feel it filling my lungs, a sweet second between the terrible torture.

My fatal mistake was thinking that I could have one moment of happiness.

Before I finished my breath, he pulled my head back and shoved it under the water faster than I could close my mouth. Pink water raged through my trachea. I started to cough, my arms flailing, my head shaking from side to side. Precious air escaped me as I retched violently into the numbing abyss. My hand hit something, something human. It was his wrist. I grabbed it and tried to pull it from me. The edge of the sink dug itself into my chest as I pulled at his hand, yanking my hair painfully with it. In a fit of anger, he brought my head out of the water and struck it against the metal faucet, then he threw me to the ground and stalked away.

Finally alone, I refilled my supply of oxygen and retched the water from my lungs. He would come back before the day was done and repeat the cycle. After all, the bruises had to be gone by Monday, before anyone could see them.

I curled up in my too-thin clothing and tried to dry my face. The bruises still hurt as I pressed lightly against them. Through my clouded, blurry vision I saw the door. Like a gateway to heaven and salvation, it shone with an almost divine light. Like the gateway to heaven, it was locked to me and only me. Leaving was out of the question.

I picked up a chunk of ice that had fallen to the floor and put it to my new injury. He always kept me home on Saturdays. Like a punching bag, I relieved his frustrations. And so it would continue until I took my last breath, most likely at his hand.