Authored by Sukanya Bora, this post was inspired by a talk she attended on ‘Domestic Violence’ at a local event. We must all acknowledge that it takes years of courage to come out and stand up against domestic violence. It isn’t easy to live the nightmare. It isn’t easy to break free either. What goes on in a victim’s mind as they live through things……..
I should use a pillow. But then, he is bigger and stronger than I am. I may not be able to hold it down, squeeze the life of out of him.
How about poison? The real stuff. I can mix it slyly in his drink, the one he religiously pours into his coffee mug. The stiff ones he makes for himself. Every single night.  How many, I lose track of after sometime because I am closely following every move of his, making sure I am not in the vicinity when he becomes maniacal.
No, let me just get a baseball bat and slug the crap out of him. I can do this when he is in the tiny back room, on the computer checking nude girls. He wouldn’t know. I will quickly sneak up and do what I need to do. Also thrash the darn computer while I am at it.
How about if I run him down with my car? Like that jilted wife who is now serving life without parole after running over her dentist husband. But I can’t be as careless as her. I want to spend the rest of life in peace, not in a four by four cell.
Well, perhaps a gun. Just shoot him at point-blank. It will be quick and easy. You filth, I will scream as I pull the trigger just as he does when he beats me to a pulp.
I should kick him, and shove him just like he did to me last night. I should use his fancy golf clubs, ones he spent my earnings on to pound him until every cell of his sick being disintegrates.
Hey, there you are, he calls out as he steps into the small kitchen on this bright, sunny weekend morning. He lightly touches my shoulder and heads over to the coffee pot.  What’s your plan for today, woman?
Nothing, really, I respond. Breakfast? 
Yes. I don’t know why but I am famished, he says, grinning foolishly.
Don’t know why? I smirk, almost. Of course you are famished. You spent all your energy beating the crap out of me last night in your drunken stupor. That’s why, you sadistic, heartless bastard, I think.
Well, then, you have come to the right place, I say instead. I made some eggs and pancakes this morning. 
He attacks the food as soon as I place the plateful in front of him and makes those disgusting sounds like he always does. He is lost, in my food. The food I cooked after I sat under the cold shower to nurse my bruises, after I cleaned up the mess of broken glass and alcohol in my bedroom, after I used up all my energy to cleanse myself out of my miserable existence.
Today is a new another day. I will contemplate other ways of ending his life tomorrow.  Just like I have, every morning, for the last nine months.
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