I couldn't go downstairs. If I did, something bad would happen. The bad things always happen downstairs.
I remained where I was. In my upstairs room. The door locked and a small lamp burning. Everything should be fine.
A door slammed and my heart slammed too.
He was back.
I kept quiet. But keeping quiet was never foolproof. I existed in my self-made silence but no amount of silence could guarantee safety.
The world is a dangerous place.
So is this house.
For me, the house is my world. It's really all I know.
His knocks on the door slayed my slamming heart.
I hid in my silence, fully aware it didn't matter. It never does.
He keyed the door open and entered.
I said nothing, as usual. Saying anything makes it worse.
I wanted to morph into nothingness. Then I would be perfect.
He came over and tugged on my bangs.
I didn't look up. I didn't want to breathe.
The only thing moving was my heart. His heart was dead.
I didn't. I couldn't. I wouldn't.
The only thing I wanted then was for my life to be over. But I didn't want him to be the one to take it.
I moved, and he moved with me.
There is nothing else I can say.