Him

She lies huddled on the bed in the dark. Curled up in a defensive ball. Hands covering her ears. Eyes squeezed tightly shut. Shivering, trembling, terrified. Cheeks wet from silently shed tears. Alone. So alone. 

He waits outside the open bedroom door, leaning on the frame. The door has a lock, but she learned long ago that using it was pointless. He got in every time. He watches. Intent. Sensing her fear. Feeding from it. Becoming more powerful for it. Her hopelessness washes over him in waves. He smiles. 

She fought him for years. Fought with her very being. For control. Using her extensive, expensive arsenal of weapons. He defeated each one as if it were nothing. The guns jammed. The knives missed their mark. The arrows couldn’t pierce him. Still she tried. She was strong. He was stronger. 

The screaming was the part he enjoyed the most. She raged and threatened as long as she had breath left in her lungs. Then came the pleading, begging, bargaining. She only did it when she was close to giving up. It was all she had left. But he laughed at her. 

She remembered her life before he took charge. Before she became his prisoner. When she was her own person. She had a life, family, friends. One by one he took them all. Leaving her empty, exhausted, unable to fight back. 

But she tried. He admired her spirit and will. But he enjoyed breaking her even more. That was his job. And he excelled at his job. 

Maybe someday someone stronger than him would come along. To save her. To help her beat him. To chase him away. To soothe her broken body and mind. To let her live again. At peace. Maybe even smile again. But not today. 

Today chronic migraine wins again. He is her captor. She, his unwilling victim. 


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