I couldn't face watching myself on the mirror; instead I stared at the marks on my body. The bruises spoke to me, they made me feel ashamed of myself, they were speaking out loud now, ... I didn't think this would ever happen to me, I never thought he would do this to me.
He had come to my door late last night, visibly drunk and angry. I opened the door and suddenly I was thrown onto the wall, his hand on my neck and I saw the rage in his eyes. I didn't say nor do anything. I didn't shout, I didn't kick him, I just let him punch me until I was lucky enough my neighbours came in and pulled him away. He left, I didn't call the police.
My marks were now shouting at me. It's difficult for me to describe the pain I felt, my body was aching but my soul was the one thing severely damaged. I knew I hadn't done anything to deserve that, but I should have known better, this should have never happened, this could not happen again. I packed a small suitcase and flew back to my town the next morning. I just ran away.
He wrote me a letter every single day. He sent me flowers. He asked me to come back, he apologized, he said he loved me.
Don't ask me why, I went back to him. He never hit me again, but he was cruel to me in many aspects I am not going to describe now. Eventually I found out he had been cheating on me for months, and it was then when I put an end to the relationship.
His marks are no longer on my skin, but I still have some left inside, whispering to me.
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