He left.
The night air is quiet but I can hear it. The silence louder than any slap and any curse I threw at him. It howls in my ears as is stand there, alone on the roadside, his taillights bleeding into the dark as he drove away.
My breaths comes in fractured pieces, and the sobs clawing their way up my throat like they were starved for attention.
And then the tears fall, hot and helpless as I wipe them with trembling fingers, realising no one’s coming to do it for me. No warm shoulders I can cry on, no whispered ‘it’s okay, you’re safe now.’ Just the echoes of his words. And the lustful touches like I was both his canvas and his crime.
My heels scrap against the concrete as I turn back toward the wrought iron gates of our estate. It’s cold and ornate, fit for a princess in a prison
