The cold metal bat feels so natural in my blood-spattered hands as I take another step towards you. I feel lifted at the sight of you shivering on the floor, your face twisted by cowardice and the realization that your years of torture have finally caught up to you. The more you whimper, the more excited I get. All the anger and guilt and shame build in my stomach and I chuckle at your sobbing. I take one final step towards you and raise the bat higher, finally smashing it downwards with all the pain I’ve got.

We first met at a Cumberland Farms, a gritty convenience store at the end of my street. I had been admiring the cracks in the window from yet another dispute between drunken junkies when you came up behind me. You didn’t say a single word; you just took the unpaid candy out of my hands, walked up to the register, and took out your wallet. I stood there, trying to look attractive yet knowing my mouth was hanging open like an idiot.

You came back and returned the candy to my hands, then put your hand on my back and led me out the door. I let you lead me to the back of the building, the twilight shadows only adding to your mystery. We stood face-to face for what seemed like an eternity, but it was too short a time to me. I was fascinated by you, and I was trying to take you all in when you suddenly leaned towards me and placed your soft lips on mine. Your brown doe eyes closed as you wrapped your arms around my waist and pulled me closer, and I melted instantly. It didn’t matter that I didn’t know you because for that moment, I was tasting your soul. And when we broke apart, the air hummed with our hearts connecting.

I soon learned everything about your life. I laughed when you told me the pet name your mom had given you when you were three, and I cried when you told me how your dad shot himself while babysitting you. I thought we were perfect for each other, and you seemed to agree. After dating for a year, we moved into a cramped yet cozy apartment and made wonderful memories. The next three years of my life made me happier than I’d ever known was possible.

Things soon began to change, though I didn’t notice at first. I would go out with a few girl friends and you’d call every five minutes to check on me. Eventually you’d guilt me into staying home with you instead, telling me you didn’t feel well or that I never spent any time with you lately. I would call my friends or my mother and tell them I couldn’t go out to lunch with them, and you’d watch t.v. and ignore me.

One morning you told me you wanted turkey and stuffing for dinner. I kissed you goodbye as I always did, and you went off to wherever you went during the day. Maybe you had a job, but I never asked. We didn’t have turkey or money to buy it, so I bought a chicken instead, thinking it wouldn’t matter. Guess I was wrong because that night when you got home and sat down expecting turkey but got chicken, you grew so angry you hurled your plate and everything else on the table at me while I was in the kitchen getting milk. I still have the scars on my legs from where your glass shattered on the floor in front of me. You apologized afterwards, after I had cleaned up the mess you made, telling me you were sorry and stroking my hair. You bought me a silver bracelet with a tiny heart charm on it, and I never asked where you got the money for it when we couldn’t even afford a turkey. I didn’t think anything of your outburst because I believed you when you promised it would never happen again.

We went to the mall a month later to buy jeans to replace the ones with holes in the knees that were in our drawers back in our apartment. That was when you got angry again. If another man so much as breathed in my direction, he got a dirty look that would soil the very robes of God Himself. As we left, you went on a rant about how men should never leer at another man’s woman like that.

“I never saw anyone leer,” I said, hoping to cool you off, but it only fueled your fire.

“You dirty whore,” you said, your eyes slanted dangerously. “You liked it! You want to fuck those other boys? I’ll teach you!”

You dragged me to the car by my arm, broke every speeding law there was on the way home, and then threw me onto the floor. You screamed insults, grabbed my face and yanked it towards yours when you thought I wasn’t paying attention. The moment the shock wore off and I realized what was happening, I began to cry, and you seemed to snap out of your rage. You kept saying you were sorry, you held me and rocked me on the stained carpet, and I warmed up to your kisses. I actually felt as though I had been looking at those men in that way, and to prove to you that I only wanted you I slipped into bed before you had turned off the t.v. so you could find me waiting for you in just my red silk panties. It was the wildest night of my life, because I had to show you that I needed only you, and you had to show me that I wanted only you. Afterwards I fell asleep in your sweating arms and worried myself to sleep about what type of girlfriend I was. I never once blamed you for anything.

I thought it would be over then; I was terribly mistaken. The longer I stayed with you, the more you hurt me, and it only progressed until it was becoming a routine. I had to miss work some days because my body was so bruised I couldn’t get out of bed. On the days I did go in, I had to use obscene amounts of makeup to cover the purple and green patches you left with your hands. Even in the summertime I had to wear long sleeves; I didn’t want anyone to know what was happening in our deteriorating apartment.

After we’d been dating five years, you brought home a puppy. It was tucked under your arm like a newspaper, and when I opened the door all I saw were these adorable brown eyes peering curiously at me. When you set him down, he immediately began jumping on me, yipping with excitement and trying to lap at me with his tongue. It was the first time in a while I’d felt truly happy around you, all because of a puppy.

“His name’s Bowser,” you announced, “like in Mario.”

I loved Bowser more than anything else in this world. When I awoke to find you gone, Bowser was always in your place, always ready to give me kisses until I couldn’t breathe. There were times you would disappear all night, but I didn’t mind because Bowser would curl up beside me and keep me warm through it all.

You couldn’t handle it. Bowser chewed up one of your slippers; I brushed it off as being playful. All it took was one kick to kill my joy as quickly as you had brought him; Bowser lay in a bloody, convoluted pile on the floor by my feet. And yet you still sneered at me for sticking up for him.

“He was just a worthless mutt,” you spat as you left me crying on the kitchen floor.

I buried him the next day next to the tool shed. The mound of dirt it left looked so empty, so dead, so I went on a search for something to make a gravestone out of. We had wood in the shed, although what for I’ll never know. You never built anything, at least that I’d ever seen. And yet just as I was about to pick up the perfect board to carve Bowser’s name into, a glint of silver caught my eye.

“Hurry up and get rid of him already. God, you’re more worthless than that damn dog.”

Those were the last words you would attack me with. Every bruise you’d ever given me, every word you’d thrown at me in hatred, they’d all built up over the years. And now they would take the form of an aluminum baseball bat.

You didn’t even know what hit you when you stepped around that corner. The only thing you knew was that your nose was gushing blood all over the two of us. Your soulless eyes went from the blood on the ground to the bat in my hands, and for the first time I saw life in those eyes; I saw fear in those eyes. You began to back away but it was too late to escape now. My puppy, my body, my sanity: you had taken them all and I wanted them back. I took another step towards you before you bolted into the house.

You were too slow. I cornered you in the kitchen, all my rage pulsing through me more rapidly than my blood ever could. You tried pleading, but pleading never worked when I tried it; you tried apologizing, but apologizing never worked when I tried it. You were merely facing yourself and you didn’t like who you saw. And now look where we are.

The cold metal bat feels so natural in my blood-spattered hands as I take another step towards you. I feel lifted at the sight of you shivering on the floor, your face twisted by cowardice and the realization that your years of torture have finally caught up to you. The more you whimper, the more excited I get. All the anger and guilt and shame build in my stomach and I chuckle at your sobbing. I take one final step towards you and raise the bat higher, finally smashing it downwards with all the pain I’ve got.

How does it feel to be the crumpled mess in the corner? I leave you there, a bloody pile on the floor, and walk into the bedroom. I pack my belongings, call a cab, and head to who knows where.

You can’t hurt me anymore.