HE RAN INTO MY KNIFE, SIX TIMES

He came home drunk for the umpteenth time, he was talking crap. He didn’t give a care in the world. This was his camp, he was the Regimental Sergeant Major.

He made sure to wield that authority, his bottle of JD was his staff of command. He had red lipstick stain on his shoulder and a smudge on his face, he smelt of expensive whore perfume.

He came close and held me in his arms. Roughly. He placed his lips on mine. He said, “I love you”. I shrunk back in unadulterated disgust, he did not even notice.

I cannot push him off. He is strong, he always has been. It was an attraction at the beginning, now it is a weapon I fear. He let go of me and went into the kitchen, he was raving hungry. I went back to sleep.

He wanted instant noodles with fried chicken and egg, it was 2am. I wasn’t getting out of bed, but he made me. He set me on the floor, and he landed his hand on my face. Very hard. “Noodles” he drawled.

Noodles he got. With more than enough laxatives in them. He slept like a baby for just a minute till he rushed to the toilet and began his day.

I was in the car, my load in the trunk. I smiled as I started the ignition, and I drove into the sunrise.

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