He told me not to move

He held me down with his strong, firm, calloused hands. He was seconds away, he was going to move inside of me, take me as his own.

I didn’t love him.

I didn’t I didn’t

He didn’t love me.

He didn’t he didn’t

There’d be nothing wrong with shoving the knife in his side, him collapsing on top of my body. There was nothing romantic about it, nothing like it was with him, with Collin.

This man, this thing was not my Collin.

He didn’t know I had the knife. He thought it’d be just like it was every time when he came home in a drunken stupor.

He was not my Collin

He was not my husband

He was a monster

I didn’t like him when he was drunk, but he was so wonderful when he was sober.

He’d come home drunk and he’d want me. Sometimes he didn’t even ask, he just assumed that I’d give all of myself to him.

Not this time.

Not this time

The knife was in my hand. He was so drunk he didn’t realize that I’d grabbed it as soon as I saw his hideous, twisted face.

I stabbed it in his side.

Blood

sometimes its easier to forget