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What is it like to live freely, to live a life untethered, without having to be responsible for everyone around you?
My rage boils over. It’s his fault. Everything. He’s the reason I keep having nightmares. He’s the reason I’m failing out of school. Worst of all, he’s the reason my father will never come back.
We look happy, almost unbelievably so. Were we ever like that? Is it really us in that image, smiling, our arms linked together?
By the time you’re done with him, he’ll be begging for mercy. Who is he if he can’t control you? Is he even a man anymore? It will seem like a relief when you give him a hand, even if that hand is holding a blade. And when you take everything from him, you can say what these men say about us: He was asking for it. He was begging for it. He must have wanted it, since he didn’t fight back.
How do I explain to her that the home I miss isn’t a place? It’s a time when my life made sense. When things made sense.

