• ....And as I look down at my feet on the dirty linoleum as I'm being screamed at all I can think is that I miss him. I miss the way he used to look into my eyes, I miss the way he would hold my hand, I miss the way he would worry when I would come home late. And I know this sounds awfully cheesy, awfully typical, but I miss the way he said he loved me.

    And as I take the blows against my face for the hundredth time in my life, I wonder where he is now, and why I said goodbye at that train station when he begged me to stay. Why I felt the need to come back, why I didn't rush off that train and into his arms.

    And while I try to hold back my tears because they just bring more pain, I hope he's happy, I hope he has a good life, and a woman who loves him and won't let him go. I wonder if he knows that every time the phone rings, I rush to answer it in hope that it's him. It never is. I wonder if he knows that I open every piece of spam I get that's seems real, thinking maybe he wants to talk to me again. It's never him.

    As the tears come streaming out of my eyes despite my best efforts, I finger the locket that he gave me, the one I still wear, the one with our picture inside.

    And as the monster attacking me for being home five minutes late notices my tears and I feel the blows rain on me with more force than before, I open the locket through the curtain of tears over my eyes, and I see our blurry faces laughing and smiling. And I think back to that day, when everything was good in the world, and I start to sob.

    And as I feel the blood streaming down my face I hear sirens in the distance and as I start to pass out I hope they're coming for me.