The first thing I do when I come back
Is try to tell you that he defiled me in some way
I don't tell you how his teeth pull on sensitive flesh
Beads of blood dribbling down his chin
Lackadaisical smile, predatory and darkly humored gleam in his eyes
His eyes are unfurling storm clouds
Every time he becomes angry his mouth sets in a thin line of grimness

I reach beyond that and try to pull out the man from fifteen minutes earlier
The one who grasped my hand during 2am joy rides to Taco Bell or McDonald's
Donuts in the parking lot as I squeal, childlike, content, euphoric, my body humming and buzzing with adrenaline
The man who kissed my forehead, early in the morning,
Whispered I love you against my temple, thinking I wasn't half-awake

The first thing I do when I come back
Is retreat into a head-space, monochromatic
I listen to the same songs on repeat
I leave my phone, unattended, on the lime-green desk
I flop onto my stomach on my bed
I conjure up fifteen messages in the span of two days and send them to him
No one is present to tell me to stop

The first thing I do when I come back
Is tell myself that he will drive to my house
White 2010 Charger idling next to my black and red mailbox
I can see him through my sheer off-white curtains
He'll peer up at me
I'll slip on my flats and rush downstairs
He'll pepper my face with butterfly-light kisses
Exclaim how much he loves me and misses me

The first thing I do when I come back
Is, instead, remember his hands pressing against my throat
The coldness of his eyes
Furrowed brow, dry lips, teeth bared
An animal stalking and conquering its prey
I am a fawn in the jaws of a wolf
His maw is bloodied
I am dying

The first thing I do when I come back
Is try to tell you this but you say it's my fault
I left, you say
I packed my bags angrily and impulsively, you say
I was ill, I reply defensively
You still left, you say
You still walked into it, you say

I feel his hands around my neck, mom
I feel his hands pressing the pillow down on top of my head, mom
I feel him smothering and choking me, mom
He wants me to ******* die
I feel his words scratching along the surface of my skull
I hear his voice slithering along, serpentine, cunning, sluicing through my bloodstream
I feel him everywhere
I feel him inside
I feel him invading me
I feel him roughly entering me, mom
I feel him not stopping
I feel his insistence and entitlement
It hurts, mom
I'm sorry
I'm ******* sorry

The first thing I do when I come back
Weeks later after I phone the domestic abuse hot-line
The call, recorded at approximately 1 hour and 22 minutes (a guess—shot in the murky proverbial dark)
Is phone him 28 times, convince myself he's really having *** with a coworker like he said
Convince myself that somehow in my addled brain he'll come back
I sit in the laundry room downstairs, open a bottle of Chlorine bleach
Contemplate drinking it
Scream until my voice is hoarse
Plead with him
Ask him
Wonder
Aloud
Why would you do this to me?
After four years...
Why did you do all of this to me?

The first thing I do when I come back
Is sit in a therapist's office about two to three years later
Tears pooling in my eyes
Gnawing on my lip
Worrying my dry hands
And say softly:

“I need help.
Help me dig his grave.
Help me lower the ******* coffin.
Please, help me bury the voice.”

I tell her what I couldn't tell you, mom
I tell her that he's still there

She was in love with the hydrogen bomb
the way his muscles dragged to the floor
caused grief in the streets
like the brazen antihero riding his motorcycle into the sunset
burgundy pink, leaving trails of glory and decay
between his feet
like the spit that ricocheted off the wall
into the permeated faces of
those she grew up with but held nothing but disdain
Contempt for their way of life
that so much imposed hers
there’s lead in his tongue
she drinks it with a slice of lime on the side
but she doesn’t know why
when he calls with a threat
like the whipping of knuckles
across her shimmery skin
she accepts that even the sun
causes damage
if you let it in for too long
she was in love with the hydrogen bomb

I hold the key
To my heart healing

I hold my breath and
When the door slams
We all go running
We're good at hiding
Shh! Stop crying!

You hold the key
To your heart healing
With every tear
Grace is Unlocking

When the door slams...

Fool me once shame on you
Fool me twice shame on me
Fool me three times shame on me
Fool me four times I lay bloodied & broken
Lingering wounds from your harsh words and hard fists
Trying to get a grip
Wondering why the **** I'm still here
Your apology seems so soft and sincere
I guess I'll just stay here
Shame on me