Entry #12

Break
by Joni Haws


She stands stiff-limbed and tired at the kitchen sink, facing the window turned mirror in the dark of evening. A pale ghost stares back at her, hollow eyes shrouded in limp bangs. The ragged blouse. A mottled bruise. She holds her fingers beneath the faucet and waits for the water to warm.

…his hands on my thighs…

Her eyes drop, crawling over each greasy dish and rust-bottomed pan, each grimy crack in the countertop.

…under my shirt…

She thinks of his stained hands, blackened nails. Everything he touches remains oily, smudged. Dirty. Like the soiled tools on his workbench.

…stinking breath on my neck…

She sees her hands are shaking.

...in my hair…

She clamps her eyes shut. His voice floats through her mind like unsettled dust.

…I know what you want…

Her own voice is screaming. CRASH – a plate. CRASH – another. Another. Another. Awakened by rage her bare feet carry her over broken ceramic, wooden floor, cement stair. Grass, gravel, asphalt pass beneath her, the corpse of a house forever at her back. She will not stop. She gulps the delicious air, arms pumping. She will not submit. Not anymore. Yes, he will come, but she does not care. She is exultant, for she knows that however it ends now, she is running toward freedom.