Always telling me “if only you’d this”, or “if you’d act like that”… But I was a kid. An innocent kid with no way to defend myself from his bullying. And we both knew that no matter how perfectly I behaved, it wouldn’t make a difference. When he was in one of his moods, he’d hit me whether I did something to bother him or not.
Unconsciously, one of my hands moves up to gently rub the front of my neck.
I’ve had stitches. Broke my arm that one time. All things that physically hurt more than the times he put his hands around my throat. But somehow that one was the worst.
Because when he choked me, it wasn’t about the pain. It was about the fear. The fear that maybe he’d go too far. Squeeze a little too hard.
My lips press together, and I force myself to breathe through the memories.
The
