"Stop" I scream as your fists pound into my neck, face and back. But I know you won't. You can't. You never will. It’s always the same but I can't help but beg for mercy anyway, like maybe, just maybe this time will be different, and someone will stop you, maybe I can stop you? But I know I can't you'll just keep hitting, until you feel better, until you break my spirit beyond repair. Sometimes I think it’s already broken, but if it was, would I still want you to stop? That’s how I know I can still be fixed.

I wait until you’re done; finally you stand up and take another swig of your beer. You pour the remainders on me and walk out the door, leaving me bleeding, wet and cold on the floor. It seems like hours before I find the courage to move, get up and go to the bathroom to look in the mirror. I know I will hate what I see. Hate myself for not stopping you, for not leaving you. I can't leave you, I still love you.
What happened to the days when you, we, were so happy? When we would sit at the park and laugh together? They disappeared after I came to live with you, after I trusted you. My trust is broken, but my love isn't. I want to hate you so badly. I can't though, your still a part of me. I want to believe you when you tell me you'll never hit me again, that you'll never drink again, but I can't like I've said, I don't trust you. No more hope for me, no more trust for me, and no more love for me. I will never love, or trust anyone again. The only thing I hope for is death, I wish for death to overtake me so I don't have to sit through another day like today again. I'm bleeding, and broken, and you leave me here, day after day, so you can drink.

My parents disowned me; I left my life as a beautiful, normal 18 year old girl for you, for this life. Don't you remember? I was happy? What was I thinking? I know what I was thinking. I loved you, I trusted you. I don't anymore. Now I'm leaving. I'm packing my bags up, I'm driving away, and you can't stop me. You left me here. Remember? Nobody can stop me.
These scars on my arms, back, shoulders, face. These are from you. I didn't do this to myself. Some people cut themselves, drug themselves, to escape pain. Pain is the result of ripping at your flesh, ripping at your body. I should know, you've ripped at me enough already. I feel sorry for those people who commit suicide. I've been close to death before, my only thoughts "God let me live through this one last beating, please let me live" and he did let me live. I'm still here.

I'm going away, to stop you, I'll finally stop you. You can't hurt me if I leave. I feel like a coward, I can't face you. But I will stop you. You won't break me, not now, not ever. When I'm gone will you miss me? No. You wont' miss me. You'll miss beating me. I want to stop you, from hurting anyone, ever. I can't, I'm not strong enough now. But maybe, someday...maybe I will be strong enough to face you. Stop you.