Violence and fear

I slump onto my knees in front of him. He is sitting on a chair in the kitchen. I put my head in his lap and he strokes my hair, a whip of dark softness. I murmur and start to relax. He pushes his chair back a little and nudges my head towards the floor. I place my cheek on the cold tiles and straighten my spine. He puts his dirty feet on my back and leaves me there to think about it. I melt into the situation. Furniture, just a foot stool. Just relax. Everything's good. The floor is cool on my cheek. I'm in a light summer dress. I'm fairly comfortable here. I know who I am. 

He moves his foot to my my chest and urges me up, I look at his eyes, he kicks me hard in the collar bone and I hurtle across the smooth cold floor to a spot half under the stairs. I scramble the rest of the way under. I'm utterly shocked. My chest throbs from the impact. I don't know what to do. I sit there quietly for what feels like forever. 

He remains seated. I peer around the corner like a little rat and watch him. I am pretty nervous right now, half cut and confused. Where did that come from? I hear the slide of his chair on the tiles as he quickly gets to his feet. I pull back into the corner. I try to make myself as small as possible. He strides towards me and throws a cold glass of water in my face. He leans in and spits on me. I shake and snivel. He walks up the stairs and leaves me alone to digest. 

When he returns to the kitchen he refills his water glass and resumes his seat. I sit quietly in the corner and wait.

 He throws his cup across the room. At me. Smash. Water and fragments of glass shatter and fly around. I burst into tears. Whats happening. I try to make myself even smaller. I look down at my hands and feet which are pooling in light red blood, a mixture of water and little skin nicks. I don't realise the superficial nature of the cuts at the time. My panic is blind. I am fearful and breathing raggedly. He throws a lit cigarette at my feet. I flinch away initially. then scrabble in the water and glass To pick it up. 

I raise the damp and crackling burn to my lips and draw on it. My hands are shaking violently. I pick up pieces of glass with my spare paw and then drop them again. Up and drop. Fantasising about cutting and blood. Looking at them. I try to settle myself but I can't. I'm crying and shaking and terrified. I hear him get up from his chair and I cower piteously in the smallest part of the corner I can find. I rap my arms tightly around my face. I sob breathlessly. 

He picks up the dustpan and brush and clears some glass from around my soaking feet. He holds out his hand to me. 

I start a new fit of tears. Scared of what he may do next. I beg rabidly. Uncontrolled. Drunk and afraid and desperate. 

"No please leave me be. Please don't hurt me. Please don't hurt me anymore. I don't want to touch you. Please dont touch me. Please just stop. Please don't throw things at me. Please don't hurt me, please George please!" 

He continues to hold out his hand and smiles at me hazily. I can't look at his face. 

"Come on. Let me help you". 

I don't want to touch him. My body shakes relentlessly. Snot and tears pool and cool on my face. He grips my wrist and firmly begins to pull me too my feet. My knees bend and buckle. My dress is soaking and cold. He takes it off me. I stand naked and stare at the floor. He motions me to go sit back in my chair. I do. I shake. I gaze at the side of the countertop. My body pulses and vibrates with adrenaline. My limbs are limp but tight. He pulls a fresh cigarette from the packet and puts it in my mouth. He takes another for himself, sparks it, rests it between his lips, smiles at me and takes a long draw.